In His Darkness
by gigglingpixie
Summary: It's 2005 and Erik is alive! What happens when a girl goes to Paris and finds him, utterly clueless about his fame? Come inside and find out...
1. In the beginning

**In His Darkness…**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything to do with_ Phantom_. I wish I did, but I'm just a poor student doing this for fun.

I'm not going to bore you with a long author note, this is just a plead for reviews (con-crit so welcome but no flamers, please. My poor little heart can't handle it).

P.S. I feel that my grammar is pretty good, but if you spot any major errors, please point them out to me.

P.P.S. If anyone is willing to be a beta for the next twenty chapters I've written so far, please email me.

Here's the first chapter!

It all started back in April. My parents got me two tickets to see _Phantom_ in the West End for my birthday. So I took Mark, my boyfriend, with me. He was looking forward to it I guess but not as much as me. Ever since the movie came out, all I could think about was the Phantom of the Opera and how cool it would be if he was real. Not still alive, obviously, but real. Even though I'd read Gaston Leroux's novel, I still referred to him as 'the Phantom'. However, when I found a copy of _Phantom_ by Susan Kay in a cheap bookstore when I was on holiday, I began to see another side to him and started calling him Erik. And that's how it'll stay.

When Mark surprised me that summer with two EuroStar tickets to Paris for a long weekend, the thing that went through my mind before the Eiffel Tower, The Louvre or the Champs Elysées was the Opera House, the Opera Garnier, not L'Opera de Bastille. How sad is that! I knew there was an actual lake under the basement and I knew that you could get onto the roof, all be it very precariously, but I wanted to see it for myself. And I wanted to play there. I'm a musician you see. Not a singer, let me make that clear from the beginning. I pity the lecturer who took my class for vocal training last semester. Although, to be fair on the guy, my voice did improve with two hours of singing a week and I managed to get a C in that class. I think I could have done better if I didn't have someone who thought she was La Carlotta in my group for the performance exam.

Anyway, I'm going off track. Where was I? Oh yeah, like I said, I'm a musician, a flutist to be precise. I know the term is usually 'flautist' but a), I'm not German, and b), I play the flute not the flaut. It's all common sense really. I haven't played anywhere big before and I'm not really good enough or competitive enough to make in the world as a performer, especially since you have to be the best of the best of the best to get into an orchestra.

I don't think Mark was too happy when I suggested going to see the Opera House, and even less so when I told him I was taking my flute and some music along too. He knew without asking that I would be taking along my laptop and lots of blank manuscript paper. I'm a bit of a composer as well as a performer. The only problem is that I tend to have huge rushes of good ideas and then none for about six months so I like to be prepared for when these rushes turn up.

**-8-**

After all that, I suppose I had better introduce myself a bit. My name...well, you'll find that out later. I'm 27 now, married with a four year old daughter, Natalie, and a baby on the way. I spent a little under a year in Paris, cut off from my family, friends and a lot of the world. I didn't really mind though; I had the best person in the world for company. I left England on 30th July, 2005 and Mark returned home on the 1st August. I didn't. I stayed in Paris and I'm so glad I did. If I hadn't, who knows what would have happened to me. I met so many wonderful people and you'll meet all of them.

"Mummy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" It's Natalie. Please excuse me for a moment.

"What are you doing?"

I lift her up onto my knee. Being only six weeks pregnant, my bump is still barely noticeable. "I'm writing a story."

"Is it a happy story?" She looks up at me with her big grey eyes.

"Not at the beginning," I reply. "It gets much happier in the middle."

"Does it have a happy ending?" She's so inquisitive!

"It has a perfect ending." I hug her close and press a kiss to the top of her head.

Satisfied, she jumps down from my lap and wanders off. I can hear her tinkling away on the piano. She's so much like her father already. Same black hair, same eyes, same nose, same mouth. The only way she resembles me is with her eye colour; grey. I don't mind at all.

She's perfect. My perfect little angel.

**-8-**

Read and Review people!


	2. First meetings

Well, if you got this far, you're obviously intrigued. This is a good sign.

**In His Darkness…**

Like I said, we got to Paris on 30th July 2005. The second the train pulled into the Gare du Nord I was bouncing up and down on my seat, madly excited to get off the damn train and go sight seeing…and shopping. Hell, I'm a red blooded woman! Of course I wanted to go shopping! That day we found our hotel, got used to the room and where we were and had a quick wander down to the Seine. The hotel was just a modern bed and breakfast but the area we were in was full of old classic French buildings with elegant stonework and iron railings around the balconies-almost worthy of Erik himself. I said this to myself but Mark heard and he gave me a _look_.

The following day, the 31st, we went to the Louvre and saw the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo and, of course, all the places described in _The Da Vinci Code_, another of my favourite books. I'd been to the Louvre before with my parents but now I could take my time over each exhibit. I also noticed a tall man who seemed to be in every room that we were. I didn't think anything of it; I just thought that we must move at the same pace. However, when I saw him again a few hours later at the Eiffel Tower, I began to think it was kind of weird. Mind you, I was carrying my flute and some sheet music around so I didn't exactly look like your average tourist either. I have mixed opinions on the Eiffel Tower. I mean, it's obvious they copied the Blackpool Tower, right! Plus, I always thought it was ironic that a country known for both its romance and womanising that it should have a giant phallus as its national symbol. Mark wanted to go up the tower but I point blank refused because of my huge fear of heights. I was perfectly happy to sit on one of the benches in the garden surrounding the tower to work over some difficult finger passages in a piece I'd been learning.

I think that was the best time of the holiday, apart from the last day. I loved sitting on my own, softly playing over some passages and scribbling some markings on my music. I was so absorbed in one particular passage that I didn't hear the tall man approach until he spoke.

"Mademoiselle?"

He made me jump, but the voice was melodic and smooth so I calmed myself quickly enough. "Oui, Monsieur?"

This was about as far as I got. I'd always prided myself on my French, having been able to get by in most situations, but this guy rattled off something so quickly that I was left looking at him with my mouth open. "Je regrette, monsieur. Je suis anglaise. Je ne parle pas beaucoup de français."

He laughed softly. "That is quite alright, mademoiselle," he replied. "I was merely asking how long you have been playing and whether you are with an orchestra. I don't think I heard anything about an English orchestra playing a concert in the city."

I smiled. "I've been playing for about ten years. I'm on my own, well, with my boyfriend, but not with any other musicians."

"I see. That is a pity. I would have liked to hear you play some more."

I cringed. "You mean you heard me? I must apologise, I wasn't exactly putting much effort into it."

"That is quite alright, mademoiselle. Your sound was fine, a little quiet and unsupported, (I winced again) but otherwise fine."

"Yes. Well. I need some practise. This movement is just…" I stopped myself before releasing a stream of obscenities in front of a complete stranger.

He chuckled, a smooth, gentle, calming chuckle before nodding his head and saying, "I understand." He turned his head; apparently he'd heard something I hadn't. "Well, mademoiselle, I must be going and I do not think that your _petit ami_ would be happy to find you talking to a strange man."

I could hear the teasing tone in his voice but I couldn't return it when I replied, "Yes, you're right. Wouldn't want him to get the wrong end of the stick, now would we," and then to myself, "or any end of any stick." I could feel his curious gaze on me but I merely looked up and smiled. "It was nice to meet you, monsieur."

"And you also, mademoiselle," he answered, touching his hand to his lips in a fashion that would not have been out of place in the 1800s. He turned and I watched him walk along the gravel path into some trees, where he turned a corner and I lost sight of him. It was only when he had gone that I realised that I had hardly seen his face, and what I had seen had been covered by a hood…a hooded cloak…and that voice…no, it couldn't be. I shook my head to clear it and glanced back in the opposite direction from which the man had left to see Mark walking towards me with a smile on his face-apparently he hadn't seen the man leave. If he had, he wouldn't be smiling. I packed away my flute, cleaning it carefully and drying out the pads in the keys where necessary. I closed the music and slid it carefully back into my bag before swinging my bag and my flute gig bag over my shoulder and standing up to greet Mark.

**-8 -**

On the first, we split up. No, I don't mean like that, although to be honest it had be going through my mind for some time. You see, Mark can be a bit violent…erm, in bed. But you don't want to hear about that. The point is, he'd been getting more violent outside of the bedroom recently. It started with playful punches on the arm or leg, which I returned, but then it grew to slaps on the face. Light at first, which I also returned, but getting steadily harder and more difficult to pass off as an overdose of blusher or alcohol, especially first thing in the morning. I did give as good as I got, but I came to realise that I couldn't win so I just gave in. That was my inner nature coming out-on the outside I'm a tough old bitch, but on the inside I'm just a frightened child.

Anyway, we split up for the day. I suggested, warily, some time apart for the day and he was more than willing to oblige. He wanted to go to the Stade de France, just outside Paris, and I wanted to go to the Opera House on Avenue de l'Opera. So we went our separate ways. But not for the last time.

**-8 -**

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	3. At the Opera Garnier

**A/N:** This chapter contains mindless violence. Please don't read if you are easily disturbed.

**In His Darkness…**

Of course I took my flute and some music along to the Opera House. I was still thinking about that man at the Eiffel Tower the day before. I knew I shouldn't have been; Mark would have been really angry. He was angry last night when I told him I didn't want to…well, yes, that. He hit me too so I was walking round Paris with a huge bruise on my arm and a slightly swollen lip where his watch had caught me when he slapped me. He's very careful never to punch, you see, at least, not where anyone would think it odd to have a bruise. I'm quite clumsy anyway so bruises on my arms and occasionally my legs are explained away by saying I walked into a table or a shelf or a door, which I have done a few times. Whatever he did, though, that man would still be in my thoughts…

I approached the Opera Garnier from the front, along Av. de l'Opera. Debussy was right; from the front it does look like a train station. It's a big squat beast, with columns and arches across the front and three statues on the roof, one on each corner and one in the centre. When you walk in the main door you are greeted by a small area where you can get leaflets for performances and buy tickets or souvenirs. You walk through a double doorway and then you are hit by the staggering beauty of the grand staircase. The first flight sweeps up onto a balcony with doors leading off to the lower circle and boxes. The stairs then continue upwards from each end of the balcony to meet in the middle and merge as a walkway crosses to more doors leading off to the upper circle and more boxes. I now knew why Susan Kay had written that Erik had designed the interior of the Opera House. It is awesomely beautiful and extravagant but also tasteful. "Definitely worthy of Erik himself," I said quietly, without the fear of a reprimand from Mark.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle. Que faites-vous ici?" said a voice from behind me.

"Je suis désolé, monsieur. J'ai voulu voir l'Opéra Garnier," I replied whilst thinking 'French, don't fail me now!'

"Well, mademoiselle," he answered slipping into English-apparently my accent isn't that good anymore-"we don't allow tourists to wander in of their own accord."

"Oh. I'm sorry, monsieur, I'll go," I replied, lowering my head in obedience. I heard a man's cough from behind me and turned in case it was the attendant calling me back.

Instead, I saw him looking up towards the ceiling and he had gone as white as a sheet. I rushed over to him, worried that he was about to have a heart attack or something, he wasn't exactly in the prime of life after all. "Monsieur! Are you all right?"

"Oui, mademoiselle. I am fine. I thought I saw…something. Anyway," he said, recovering quickly, "you may stay here for an hour or so. It is lonely here on my own."

My eyes lit up and I could feel a huge smile on my face. "Are you sure, monsieur? I'm quite happy to go if I have to."

"Non, mademoiselle, you may stay. Are there any parts of the Opera House you particularly wish to see?"

"Yes, I'd like to see the lake and the stage, please."

"You are easy to please, mademoiselle. At least I do not have to take you up to the roof!"

I shuddered and told him about my hatred of all things high. He smiled at me and said that he preferred his feet flat on the ground as well, thank you very much.

Patrice, for that is his name, led me down five flights of stairs until we came to the lake. I slipped off my shoes and sat on one of the steps dipping my toes in the water for a few minutes while he told me of the legend of the many ghosts that haunt the opera house. I indulged him in his fantasies but I told him I was only interested in one ghost. Patrice rolled his eyes at me and said that everyone was only interested in one ghost. Eventually, my feet started get cold (hey, it's the Seine, ok!) and my legs were starting to go numb so I stood, with a little difficulty, and put my sandals back on.

"Where else did you want to go, mademoiselle?" Patrice asked.

"The stage, please, if it's not going to get you into trouble!" I replied.

"Not at all," he smiled and together we walked back up the long flights of stairs, although who was helping who I can't say.

Patrice led me to the stage and we came on from stage left. I asked him if it would be ok to play for a while since I would never get the chance again. He said that of course I could, mademoiselle, although I think he just wanted to get away and have some food as it was past the long lunch hour that the French normally take.

I lay down on the stage and lifted an empty music stand up from the orchestra pit before getting out some sheet music and putting together my flute. I decide to start with an easy piece that I could use to both warm up and show off my dynamic range. I chose _Pavane_ by Fauré. The slow tempo let me warm up my diaphragm muscles and kept my breath control even. The piece is in the middle to lower end of the flutes range which is where my flute shines…er, so to speak since the whole thing's silver. I reached the end of the piece and let the last note trail away to nothing. Even then, the auditorium took my sound and threw it back to me. I let my arms drop to my sides and my muscles relax as I took in the air of the opera house. A few deep breaths brought me back to myself and I turned the pages of the music book to Fauré's _Sicilienne_, one of my favourite pieces and one that covers almost the full range of the flute. After finishing that one I picked up another book and turned to the second movement of York Bowen's _Sonata for Flute_, a piece I had not played for along time but the finger movement for the difficult middle section came back to me as I got into the piece. By now, my slightly swollen lip was getting tired and my shoulders were starting to ache a little so I decide on my final piece-_Syrinx_ by Debussy. This, unlike the others, is for solo flute and so there were no harmonies missing from the piano part and no long rests to count while humming the piano melody to myself. This is one of my favourite pieces and so I let a still sound with no vibrato bloom into more across long held notes and the flurries in the last section almost blur into harmonies in the acoustic. As I tapered off the last note, I realised that I would never be able to play that piece so beautifully ever again. Tears blurred my vision but I brushed them away impatiently when I heard soft clapping in the wings. I looked across where the sound had come from and saw the same tall man that had been at the Eiffel Tower standing there.

**-8 -**

"Bonjour, monsieur."

"Bonjour, mademoiselle. That was beautiful. I am glad I got to hear you play once more."

I bowed my head in modesty. I've never been much good at accepting compliments. "Thank you, monsieur." I glanced at my watch. It was four fifteen which meant I was fifteen minutes late meeting Mark at the hotel. "Oh hell!"

The man looked at me with concern at my outburst and at my worried face. "Is everything alright, mademoiselle?"

I looked at him in panic as I packed away my things. "No, not even a little bit. I'm late meeting Mark. He's going to murder me."

There was silence from the wings and I though he had left, rather rudely in my opinion, until I heard quietly, "That is a nasty bruise on your arm, mademoiselle."

I stood up quickly, knocking the music stand over in my haste to cover my arm. "It's nothing. I'm just a bit clumsy-I walked into a shelf in the hotel reception yesterday." The lie slipped easily from my mouth before I'd had a chance to think about it.

"I see." The tone of his voice made me think that he knew I was lying so I decided to make a quick get away.

"It was good to see you again, monsieur," I said walking over to him in the shadows of the wings. He took my outstretched hand and, instead of shaking it, brought it to his mouth and placed a feather light kiss on the back of my hand that made my knees turn to jelly and my head spin. "How very traditional, monsieur," I smiled.

"I was brought up well, mademoiselle."

"Of that, I have no doubt," I replied, slipping into what I call my 'posh English' without realising.

I jumped down from the front of the stage (that's me-the image of femininity) and began to walk along the centre aisle to the door at the back where I had arranged to meet Patrice. I had got about a quarter of the way along when I realised I could still feel his eyes on my back. I turned and saw him standing on the stage, still wearing his hooded cloak. It was at this point that my brain decided to go on holiday and leave things to my mouth. "Mark and I are visiting Le Basilique du Sacré Coeur and the rest of Montmartre tomorrow, monsieur. Perhaps I shall see you there? It would be nice to see you again on my final day in Paris, to say a proper goodbye." I looked at him for a few moments more and then turned away to jog up the aisle to Patrice.

I couldn't say for sure, but before I turned away, I thought I saw three things in one moment-a smile, a nod of assent…and the flash of a white mask.

**-8 -**

As it turned out, Mark was on time for once and was pissed off at having to wait for me. We went up to the hotel room to get ready for dinner but the second we got inside, he pushed me onto the bed. I banged my head on the corner of the cabinet on my way so I was a little dazed when he began shouting at me.

"I don't expect to have to wait for you while you go off around your precious Paris," he yelled. I won't tell you the rest as the language was riper than anything either of us had ever used before.

By the time I'd recovered from the blow to the head, I realised there was blood trickling into my eye. He looked at me in disgust and grabbed my arm tightly making another bruise. He dragged me over to the bathroom, where I twisted my ankle on the tiled floor, before sneering at me to get myself cleaned up if I wanted to eat tonight.

That night was the worst I'd ever seen him. I honestly believe that if we were still together now I'd be dead. Anyway, I cleaned up my head wound, pressing gauze to it until the bleeding stopped and then rubbing on some antiseptic cream. I showered and then rechecked my cut before wrapping a towel tightly around myself and stepping out from the bathroom. I took my dress from the wardrobe and went back into the bathroom to get changed. I dressed and did my make up and then dried my hair, making sure that I could brush it over my temple quickly if anyone noticed the cut.

We went out for dinner that night to one of the most romantic restaurants I have ever been to. Street sellers walked past selling single red roses and the place was lit by candlelight. It was spoiled slightly by the gaudy fluorescent lights of a sex shop just around the corner, but hey, it is Paris. I only enjoyed it because of the pianist there. The old piano in the middle of the restaurant looked well loved and the man playing it was clearly an expert. I began to sit up and take notice when he started to play Fauré's _Pavane_ that I was playing earlier.

Mark kicked me hard under the table and I winced. "Listen to me when I'm talking to you," he hissed.

"Sorry," I mumbled, letting my hair fall into my face so I could blink the tears of pain and anger back. He began chatting on again about how great the stadium is, how big, how modern, how he'd love to see a game there. I only half listened. I was back in the world of music again as the pianist began to play a light jazz piece.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle." A waiter made me jump.

"Do you mind? We're talking," said Mark irritably.

I put my hand on his to calm him down a bit and looked at the waiter apologetically.

"Oui, monsieur?"

He replied in broken English, "Someone want me to give this you, mademoiselle. He say you know who it is from." He handed me a single red rose.

I looked at him slightly confused but took it anyway. "Merci, monsieur." He inclined his head and hurried away to deal with fussy customers on the other side of the room. "Is this from you?" I asked Mark. "You didn't have to, babe. I love being here so much already."

"I didn't," he growled.

It was then I realised that we should get out of there quickly before he exploded in public. I called the waiter over and asked for the bill which I paid. We went back to the hotel pretty fast, or fast for someone walking on a twisted ankle. He was livid when we got back. He accused me of cheating, flirting, lying, anything he could think of to justify punching me in the stomach for the first time. He beat me that night but he missed my head and arms, places where the injuries would be obvious.

The last thing I remember was looking at the rose I still had clutched in my hand, the thorns digging into my palm, and seeing a black ribbon tied around the stem.

I didn't fall asleep that night. I passed out.

**-8 -**

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	4. A very wise decision

**In His Darkness…**

Sometime during the night I went from being unconscious to being deeply asleep. When I awoke the next morning I was still slumped on the floor next to the bed with a serious cramp in my right calf. I struggled to my feet trying not to wake the man…thing snoring in the bed above me. I went to the bathroom and stripped off to inspect my injuries. The cut on my temple was healing well but it must have split open as fresh line of dried blood was on my cheek. The bruise on my arm had gone from dark purpley red to a yellowish brown, a sign that it too was healing. My chest and stomach were a different matter. There were few outward signs of injury, although judging by the tenderness there soon would be. The biggest mark was on my left hip. It was shoe shaped-Mark must have kicked me and I hadn't realised.

I hated him so much. I hated him the same amount that I had loved him when we first met. I was determined not to let him do this to me again. I wouldn't be around to let him. I showered and dressed and crept back into the bedroom. I packed my things quietly into my rucksack and put my computer and music into the computer carry case. I could easily put my flute gig bag over my shoulder to carry the lot downstairs and leave them in reception while I had breakfast.

I settled any bills that we had rung up in the hotel at the reception desk, told the woman there that Mark was still asleep but that I didn't care if they disturbed him or not. I left him a note saying that it was over and that I was staying in Paris for a while to clear my head. I told him that if he ever came near me or my family again I would go to the police.

Satisfied that he would not try to find me, I left the hotel and got the metro to Montmartre. I climbed the hill to the Sacré Coeur, difficult with a twisted ankle and a sore hip. I went into the basilique to look around and study the mosaic on the wall there. I managed to leave my luggage with one of the clerks there and arranged to collect it later. I wandered, well limped, around the square filled with artists, each trying to get me to have my picture drawn. I ignored their calls and merely took in the relaxed atmosphere of Montmartre. I went to a café, bought an apple juice and sat down to relax and rest my ankle. It was hurting more than yesterday so I must have twisted it again when he pushed me last night.

I sat at an outside table, sometimes looking around the busy square, sometimes lost in my own thoughts. It was in one of the latter times that a shadow fell across my table and I glanced up, letting my hair fall across my temple out of habit, to see the same man.

"May I join you, mademoiselle?"

"Of course, monsieur. I would be delighted to have some company." The tilt of his head to one side told me that he was confused. "He's not here," I said. "I don't know or care where he is." I tucked my hair back behind my ear allowing him to see the cut on my head.

"That is fresh?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, my mouth twisting into a grimace as I shifted in my seat and felt a twinge of pain in my stomach. "So are the sore stomach, twisted ankle and foot shaped bruise on my hip."

The man's hand clenched into a fist involuntarily. "Your boyfriend…"

"He's not my boyfriend," I interrupted.

"Very well. This man…this monster did this to you." His voice shook with anger and one of his hands was twisting a beer mat into a shape entirely different from the one it was used to.

I gently put one of my hands over his to calm him which was when I realised he was wearing gloves; something _very_ weird for the height of summer. "It's ok. I left him. I'm going to find a _pension_ or a hostel to stay in for a few days to clear my head and let him know that I'm serious about what I said."

He looked up and for the first time I saw his face. Well, half his face-the other half was covered by the hood of his cloak, something else that was weird for the height of summer. "Does he know where you are?"

For a minute I didn't answer him. I was too absorbed in taking in every little detail of what I could see of his face. His eyes were golden brown and they didn't twinkle, they sparked. I could tell that when he was angry, those eyes could shoot to kill. He had very pale skin-so pale it looked like he had never been out in the sun. The pale skin made his full lips look darker and, I thought in a moment of weakness, very kissable.

"Mademoiselle?" He was looking at me in concern.

I shook myself and replied, "He might do. He knows we were coming here today but hopefully he'll think that I just went and found another hotel straight away. He wasn't that interested in coming h…" I broke off with a gasp and an involuntary squeeze of the man's hand which I hadn't realised I was still touching.

Mark was on the other side of the square staring straight at me and looking absolutely livid. The man turned in the direction that my terrified face was looking. "Is that him?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. My breathing was getting faster and I knew that if I didn't get out of here I was either going to hyperventilate or be killed by my ex-boyfriend.

The man stood up and held out his hand to me. "Come with me, mademoiselle. I know a quick way to leave here."

I could see Mark getting closer and his face was black as thunder so I downed the rest of my apple juice, took hold of the man's hand and stood up. He took me down a street leading off from the corner of the square and into a house. Glancing behind, I could see Mark looking down the street furiously. He had just missed seeing which door we had gone into. I had never felt so lucky.

However, I was now alone in a house with a man who I had met three days previously. This was _not_ a situation I wanted to be in. I turned to face the man a little apprehensively but he had his back to me. He was taking off his cloak and immediately I was on my guard. I think he seemed to sense my tension as he said, "You have nothing to fear, mademoiselle. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Can you understand why I'm nervous though?" I asked.

"Of course," he replied. He knelt down at the grate of an open fire that I hadn't noticed. I just stood there and watched his elegant movements and a few minutes later a fire was roaring and flooding the room with flickering orange light. "You may sit down if you wish, mademoiselle."

"Thank you," I said, taking a seat in an armchair facing the fire. I noticed that as I moved to sit down, he moved to keep his back to me. "Thank you for bringing me to your home, monsieur. I will be eternally grateful." My voice shook and tears threatened as I remembered the look on Mark's face.

The man chuckled, that same musical chuckle I had heard at the Eiffel Tower. "This is not my home, mademoiselle. You have already seen my home, and complimented it magnificently."

I shot a confused look at his back. "Er, I think I'd remember if I'd been to your home, monsieur. I'd know your name for a start."

I could hear the derisive smile in his voice as he said, "You mean you haven't guessed yet? Oh, mademoiselle, I am disappointed with you. I thought the rose I sent you when I was playing at the restaurant would have been a dead give away."

A single thought, a single word, was forming in my mind. As hard as I tried I couldn't push it away and it came out as a strangled whisper. "_Erik?_"

He turned to face me full on and for the first time I saw both his golden eyes, the entirety of his full lips, his bare left cheek and his famous white mask. "Well done, mademoiselle."

For the second night in a row, I fainted.

**-8 -**

Please R&R!


	5. Being unlucky

**A/N:** This chapter also contains mindless violence. Again, don't read if you get easily disturbed. And, yes, I do like being evil to my characters.

**In His Darkness…**

I came round a few minutes later and three things went through my mind-'What a freaky dream', 'Where the hell am I!' and 'Why can't I move my ankle?' I tried to sit up and my head started spinning. "Whoa…," I mumbled putting a hand to my head and then gave a confused look as I found the edges of a plaster.

"Be careful, mademoiselle," said a voice. "I don't want that ankle to be moved more than absolutely necessary."

I froze, my eyes wide open. "It wasn't a dream."

Erik chuckled. "Far from it, mademoiselle."

"Holy crap," I cursed as I flopped back on the pillow. "Ow! Bloody hell, that hurt," I swore loudly as pain shot through my stomach. I lifted up my t-shirt and saw a bruise that covered pretty much my whole stomach and my lower ribcage. "Bugger me," I mumbled.

"Language, mademoiselle," he admonished. He walked over to me and checked the bandage on my ankle with careful fingers.

"Sorry," I replied, watching his delicate movements. When he had finished I asked,

"Where are we? And how did I get upstairs? All I can remember is going into a house because…Oh no, Mark!" I said wildly. "Does he know where I am?"

"Calm yourself, my dear," he replied placidly. "The only other person who knows you are here is Guillaume and that is his right."

"Why?"

"It is his house!"

"Ok. You trust him, right? He wouldn't tell anyone where I am, would he?"

"Of course not. Guillaume knows that if he disobeys my orders the wage I pay him would stop."

I smiled as I recognised that attitude from the books I had read. "Ok. If you can trust him, then so can I." I gasped and looked at my watch. "My luggage! It's still at the basilica. I need to go and get it." I began to sit up to swing my legs off the bed but Erik's hand on my shoulder pushed me back down.

"I will send Guillaume. Could you write a note for the clerk you left it with?"

"Of course," I answered. Erik handed me paper and a pen and I wrote a note asking the clerk to give the luggage to Guillaume as I had some business to take care of. I wrote in the formal French that I had learnt at school and handed it to Erik for him to give to Guillaume.

"Your French is quite good, mademoiselle." He sounded surprised.

"I was taught for six years but I'm a little out of practise."

He nodded, told me that if I moved there would be hell to pay, although not in those words, and left the room. A few minutes later he returned carrying a tray of food. "I thought you would be hungry, mademoiselle. It is after five."

"Thank you," I answered. Before I took a bite I said, "Erik, you still haven't answered my second question. How did I get upstairs?" and then began to eat.

"I carried you," he said simply.

I choked. I'm not exactly the lightest of people, you see and I haven't let people pick me up or give me a piggy back since I was about 13. After a slight coughing fit, I said, "I, er, hope I wasn't too heavy for you," before blushing and trying to hide behind my fork.

He smiled at me. "Not at all, mademoiselle."

"Good," I sighed and carried on eating, although vowing to avoid cheese, butter and chocolate for the rest of my life.

**-8 -**

That evening, after Guillaume had returned with my computer and rucksack, I decided to take my leave of Erik. I was managing to walk pretty well again and I could get around the room I was in and just manage to get downstairs. Walking was so much easier, although more painful, when my ankle wasn't bandaged. I got to the front door without anyone taking any notice, though they must have heard me. I put on my rucksack and slung my computer case and flute over my shoulder. As I went to open the door, I heard a voice behind me.

"Where do you think you are going, mademoiselle?" Erik did _not_ sound happy.

I turned to face him with trepidation and said, "I have taken up enough of your time and hospitality. I'm going to find a _pension_ to stay in for a few days. Please thank Guillaume for me." I turned to go but only a few quick strides carried Erik along the hall and as I opened the door, he pushed it closed. Well, slammed it would probably be more accurate.

I turned back to him crossly. "Do you mind! You could have taken a finger off!"

"Listen, _mademoiselle_, you are not going anywhere," he said angrily.

Now, you may think I'd be cringing away from memories of Mark but I've never been a fast learner. I looked up into his face-he's not the only one who can be fierce when they're angry. "Just who do you think you are? You can't give me orders. I'm not one of your servants so don't think I'm going to listen to you just because you've got your angry face on." I forced his arm down from where he was still leaning on the door, span away from him and flung the door open. I'd like to say I made a stunning, decisive exit…but I'd be lying. Limping doth not a good exit make.

The door slammed behind me-clearly Erik was far from pleased. For a moment I considered turning back. It was only about eight but the back streets were dark and the area below the basilica was quite badly lit. I wouldn't mind wandering around my home town at night but this was a strange city and, as you may have noticed, my French is rusty. I began to walk down the hill from the basilica towards the city. I had to pass through some decorative gardens on the way down the hillside and then through a small clump of trees. It was really dark and so when the man jumped out at me I was completely vulnerable. I tried to scream but his hand covered my mouth and the rucksack on my back made me overbalance. I fell onto my side, hurting my ankle again, and landed on my bruised hip. The man tugged my rucksack from my back and threw it to one side before holding me down with a knee on my stomach. The pain exploded across my abdomen and I've never felt anything so excruciating. Then he tried to pull my laptop away from me. The strap tugged on my left arm in an awkward way and made it feel like it was being ripped from its socket. He tugged me up to loose the strap from around my shoulder and then threw me back down to the stone path. It felt like my skull had been shattered and I was completely dazed. Just as I was giving in to unconsciousness for the third time that holiday, I felt him being pulled off me. This feeling made me more determined to stay awake and as I rolled slowly over onto my side, I saw my attacker being thrown to the floor. He didn't move again.

My rescuer crouched down beside me and brushed my hair back from my face allowing me to see them clearly. The face made me sob with relief. I tried to sit up but my head felt like lead and my shoulder was still hurting. Instead, I reached out my good arm and put my hand on Erik's shoulder to try and pull him into a hug. I couldn't manage the hug, but the position of my arm made it easier for him to put his left arm around my back and his right under my knees to lift me up. I hung on to his neck with my right hand as he carried me easily up the hill again and back to Guillaume's house. I remember him sending Guillaume to collect my rucksack and computer-my flute was still on my shoulder and, miraculously, unharmed-and then taking me upstairs to the same bedroom I had been in before. He lay me down on my right side so he could clean the wound on the back of my head before rolling me onto my back and lifting my t-shirt up so he could look at my stomach. I have no idea how I've managed to survive so many abdominal injuries in such a short space of time but I was in the best hands. If I'd had the choice between Erik or a hospital, I would have chosen Erik. I can remember feeling him touch my stomach and then me crying out in pain.

I think I must have fallen asleep for an hour or so-I'm not going to say passed out _again_-and when I woke up, Erik was there, sitting on my bed watching me. I smiled at him and tried to speak but I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and a lump in my throat so I settled for reaching out my hand and squeezing his before starting to cry. I don't know how long I cried but all the time, Erik was there, not saying anything but just sitting there letting me get all the stress, pain and fear out of my system.

When my tears finally subsided, he stood up and came to stand at my shoulder. He pushed my hair back so he could look me in the eye and said, "Sleep. You need lots of rest if I am to take you to my home in a few days."

"Ok," I sniffled, "and thank you. So much. I don't know what I would have done if…" Fresh tears threatened.

"Hush, mademoiselle," he admonished. "Sleep is the best cure."

"Stop calling me 'mademoiselle', Erik," I said. "I don't think we need formalities anymore."

"Very well. What do I call you?"

I paused. I've always hated my name but thought that the French version was very elegant and I wanted to hear him say it in his rich musical voice. "Call me Marguerite."

"Very well..., Marguerite…"

I nearly drooled.

**-8 -**

Right, that's all you're getting! I want reviews people! Let me know if you want the rest of the story; I've written up to Chapter Twenty.

Please R&R!


	6. A new home

Much thanks to my two reviewers, **phantomfanatic** and **Dark Amethyst**. It's good to know some people are reading D

Anyway, here's the next chapter.

**In His Darkness…**

I stayed in the room for two whole days. My ankle had got better, the cut on my temple had healed and the bruises on my arms had almost gone. My hip was still a mass of yellowish brown and my stomach was extremely tender but I could walk without any help and my usually huge appetite was almost back to normal. Throughout the time I was staying there, the only people I saw were Erik, Guillaume and Madeleine, Guillaume's wife. Erik brought me food and tended to my bandages, Guillaume brought me some English books and removed empty trays of food and Madeleine helped me bath in the evening.

I was completely content to stay there. I read and listened to music for pretty much the whole of the two days. I always like being on my own-it gives me time to think and let myself slide fully into my own little world filled with books and music. I know that sounds weird but it's still true.

On the second evening, the 4th August, Erik came to me wearing his cloak and helped me stand up from where I was laying reading. "Come, my dear. You are well enough to walk to my home I think."

I smiled and nodded eagerly. I put on my shoes and looked around for my bags. "I have already taken them," said Erik.

"Oh! Thanks," I replied, surprised that he knew what I was thinking. I picked up my flute gig bag-the one thing that I hadn't let leave my side all the time I was recovering-and followed Erik out of the room and down the stairs. Guillaume and Madeleine were waiting at the bottom of the stairs and I was sad to say good bye. I hugged them both and told them that it had been wonderful to meet them and I hoped that we would meet again soon.

Erik and I left their house at about 9pm. It was fairly dark and I was worried that there would be any people around to repeat the drama of a few nights ago. Erik seemed to sense my fear and looped my right arm through his left. His presence calmed me and knowing that I was with a strong, fearless man made me relax and enjoy the walk through Paris in the dusk. We didn't walk through the gardens. Erik knew another route down to the city and, although we kept to darker, emptier streets, I felt perfectly safe.

**-8 -**

We reached the Opera Garnier at about half past ten. By that time, my hip was hurting again and every step made my stomach twinge. My ankle was also a bit sore, but I knew that I could lean on Erik for support.

"Marguerite, we are here," he said softly.

I looked up and saw the huge columned front of the opera house. I smiled and looked at Erik. He was looking up at his home with love. "It's so beautiful at night," I said in a hushed voice.

He smiled and said in a whisper, "Yes." He then seemed to shake himself before turning to me and saying, "Now! Let's go inside and I can show you all the things that Patrice couldn't."

"I should have known it was you that made it so I could look around," I muttered, shaking my head. I let Erik lead me around the side of the opera house and down some side steps to an iron gate. I stepped through and began to head towards a door a few metres away when a hand on my arm stopped me. I turned to see Erik standing in front of a window that I hadn't noticed. He opened the window and then stepped through it. He then turned and held out his hand to help me through. When I was inside, Erik turned to fasten the window, giving me time to look around. We were in a small chapel. There were candles in a rack like you would find in any church or cathedral. There was an old mural on the wall and I walked over to study it more closely. I ran my fingers softly over the paint, feeling every bump in the wall and seeing every detail. Erik's hand took hold of mine making me jump. He moved it slowly up until my hand came to rest at the edge of the painting, just where it joined a wall coming out perpendicular to it. Erik's hand left mine and I looked over my shoulder at him curiously. He nodded at me encouragingly and I turned back to the mural. I felt around carefully at the edge of the mural until I felt a small gap in the wall, almost hidden in shadow. A quiet, "Ah," of realisation passed my lips and I put three fingers in the gap and pulled gently until I felt the wall begin to move. It slid back easily without a sound until there was a space big enough to allow us to pass through. I stepped through and turned back to Erik with a triumphant smile.

He smiled at me and stepped through into the narrow dark tunnel before turning and sliding the panel back quickly. He lit two candles in a two-pronged candlestick resting in a small alcove with a lit taper he had taken from the candle rack in the chapel. He blew out the taper and began to walk down the tunnel. I followed him, trying to look around in the flickering light. The tunnel was lined with empty candlesticks and intricate stonework. The floor was also made of stone and there were cobwebs covering the ceiling and hanging from the candlesticks. It took only a few minutes to reach the end of the tunnel and his home. Erik pushed open what seemed to be a solid wall before turning to me and saying, "Welcome to my home, mademoiselle."

I barely registered the formality. I was stunned. I'd imagined a cave with a few furnishings but this was far beyond that. The tunnel had come out onto a long ledge which ran around the edge of the cavern. To one side it led down to the edge of the lake. I could see several smaller caverns which led off from the one we were standing in. This one was largely made up of the lake, on which there was a boat, and along one side was his organ. I looked up at Erik in wonder and said, "Can I have a look around?"

"Please do," he said with an elegant wave of his hand. "This shall be your home for as long as you want."

I resisted the urge to hug him madly-I don't think that would have gone down too well. I walked slowly along the ledge and peered into the first cavern I came to. This one contained a desk, a piano and a cabinet full of scores and manuscript paper. There was also a bookshelf crammed with books. I could spend hours in this room so I decided to move on and study it in detail later. The next cavern I came to was a larder. It had a small table and two chairs as well as a worktop to prepare food. There was no oven or kettle so I could see that any chance of hot food was out of the question. I continued to explore the cave, finding Erik's bedroom, another room filled with books, a makeshift bathroom and what was obviously going to be my room as my bags were sitting at the end of the bed.

My room was beautifully furnished. The walls were covered in green velvet drapes with silver swirls along the edges. The bed was huge and enormously comfortable and there was a large wardrobe and chest of drawers. There was also a music stand and a bookcase with books and sheet music crammed into every possible space. I instantly fell in love with the room.

I ran outside and saw Erik sitting at his organ playing a soft slow piece. I ran over to him and he stopped playing as he heard my footsteps. "I love it, I love it, I love it!" I squealed.

He laughed at my mad enthusiasm and held out an arm to stop me going headlong into the lake. "I see you're feeling much better," he said pointedly.

"Just shows what this place can do I guess!"

He laughed again and shook his head. He turned to back to the organ and began to play. "Do you play?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I play the piano a bit but I'm rubbish really."

"Play me something," he said, moving with the soaring melody that he was coaxing gently from the organ.

"No, I'll just listen for a while if that's ok."

"Of course."

I stood to the side for a few moments and then came to stand behind him so I could watch the movements of his fingers as he played. I rested my hands lightly on his shoulders as he played-as you may have guessed, I'm quite a physical person-and closed my eyes so I could sink deep into the music. The melody soared above rich harmonies and the countermelody ran underneath like a river. Then he changed the piece so it was full of discords and running passages. This was angry music. It sent shivers down my spine and goosebumps popped up all over my arms. It reminded me of gales through trees and purple storm clouds rushing across the skies and huge waves crashing into the shore. My hands clenched at Erik's shoulders involuntarily and he moved smoothly into a piece that was full of sadness. The harmonies were full of minor thirds (the 'sad interval') and the melody flowed mournfully across the running bass. When the piece reached its ending, I let my eyes open slowly so I could adjust to the real world again. I noticed that my hands had been softly rubbing Erik's shoulders as he played.

"Sorry," I said in a quiet voice.

"That is quite alright," he replied. "I understand how music can affect people's emotions." He was looking down at his hands still resting on the keys.

I squeezed his shoulders softly and said, "I'm going to go and read for a bit. There's a chapter I need to…um, yeah." I turned away from the organ and went to my room.

**-8 -**


	7. Revelations

**In His Darkness…**

I sat on my bed, my book lay closed in front of me. I'd got it down from the shelf and begun to read but when I realised I'd been sitting there staring at the same page for about ten minutes, I gave up.

I needed to sort things out in my head. Why had he brought me down here? Why had he trusted me so much in the first place? Why had he spoken to me on that first day? Why did he let me touch him? I had no idea. He didn't seem to be the monster that I had read about. Maybe the stories were just stories. Or maybe I just hadn't seen that side of him yet. I'd seen that he could get angry quickly, but then I'm quite short tempered as well, so that's nothing special. I'd seen that he could be violent when he rescued me from that mugger in the gardens.

None of the reasons I could come up with made sense. If he was lonely, why not go and live with Guillaume and Madeleine-there was plenty of room. I don't know why he trusted me so much. Sometimes you just know if someone is trustworthy, I guess, and he has good instincts. Maybe he had first spoken to me just because he heard me play. Who knows?

I had no idea why he let me touch him. From what I'd read, he behaved like a cat to water when it came to physical contact but I could easily squeeze his hand or arm or rest my head on his shoulder if I was tired. I never tried to touch his face though. I would never do that unless he actually told me. I never hugged him either; I think that would have terrified him.

Of course, I reminded myself, everything I know about him is from works of fiction. How can I possibly make a decent character assessment from books, movies and a musical? At least, I though worriedly, remembering some of the more gruesome parts, I hope they're fictional.

I sat on my bed, hugging my knees, lost in my thoughts for the best part of an hour.

**-8 -**

After my mind had stopped spinning, I drifted out of my room towards the piano. I'd brought some piano scores with me as I'd been asked to arrange some pieces from them. I sat down on the piano stool and began to play _Trouble_ by Coldplay. It's always been one of my favourite pieces to play as it's quite simple and I can sing the words in my head. I once tried to sing them out loud but someone yelled at me to stop injuring that cat. Like I said, I'm not a singer. When I'd finished, I closed that book and opened another to play _Theme from 'American Beauty'_. As the last chord finished, I sat there for a few minutes, lost in my thoughts.

"That was very good." Erik's voice made me jump.

"Oh, thanks," I said. "Sorry they weren't happy pieces. Those tend to be harder, especially when you're not in a bouncy mood."

"I see," he said, sounding concerned. "Is there anything you wish to talk about?"

"Yes, there is actually," I said, whirling round on the piano stool. "Why have you brought me here? Why did you speak to me in the first place?"

He froze. "I thought you would be grateful to have somewhere to stay and someone to talk to," he said stiffly. "If you are not happy here you are welcome to leave." He turned to go.

I jumped up and caught hold of his arm. "Don't get me wrong, I _am_ grateful. I just don't understand. I thought you were a solitary person. I didn't think you would want someone hanging around all the time. I thought you'd want to be alone to play or sing, and compose."

"I haven't sung since I was seventeen, not since…" He broke off and turned on me. "What makes you think you know so much about me?" he asked. His voice was cold.

I drew back and glared at him, hands on hips. "I don't appreciate your tone, _monsieur_. Anyway, I like to think I know enough about you to warrant answers."

"We have known each other for a little over a week, _mademoiselle_," he said, equalling my dry tone. "I do not think you know me well enough to make judgements about my nature."

"I consider myself a good judge of character," I replied. His detached manner was not helping to keep me calm and my naturally quick temper was starting to flare.

"Indeed," he countered. "Maybe you are not such a good judge of character as you think." He turned his back on me and began to walk out of the room.

I followed him and said angrily, "Maybe so. But I don't need to be a judge of character to understand you."

"Oh? And why would that be?" he said carelessly over his shoulder.

"I _read_, Erik. I go to the movies. I don't need to spend time with you to understand you," I snapped. _At least, I don't think so_, I thought.

He whirled on me, his golden eyes sparking. "What are you talking about, you silly child?"

(That really got me going. If there's one thing I hate, it's being called a child, especially since I was twenty back then. If he'd left it at, 'What are you talking about?' I don't think I'd have answered him. It was a shock to find out that he didn't know how famous he was but it didn't register as I was in the middle of what is commonly termed a 'hissy fit'. And now back to your regularly scheduled program).

"You mean the world renowned Phantom of the Opera hasn't got a clue? Oh this is priceless!" I crowed. I can be a sarcastic bitch at times. "Gaston Leroux is rolling in his grave; his precious star completely oblivious. I wonder what Susan Kay would think? Or Andrew Lloyd Webber? Or Joel Schumacher and all those other movie directors? All their wonderful hard work and their muse utterly clueless. I wonder what all your fans would think of you." I moved closer to him and hissed, "You think no-one knows about you? You have no idea how wrong you are."

His face dropped. He had been slowly sagging under my harsh words and now those beautiful golden brown eyes which had been shooting to kill only a few minutes ago were full of anguish and terror. He kept glancing towards the edge of the lake as if expecting to see hoards of crazed people rushing towards him waving pitchforks. Then his face hardened again and he brushed past me, nearly forcing me into the lake in his rush to get to the privacy of his bedroom.

I stood seething for a minute and then, after a deep breath to make sure I was completely calm, I walked back to my room.

**-8 -**

I hate my temper. I'm a peace-loving person but whenever I lose it, I _really_ lose it. Erik had that nonchalance about him that irritated the hell out of me. I supposed that I would just have to get used to it. If he would forgive me for my outburst. Hell. I'd have to go and apologise. I hate making apologies more than losing my temper.

I sighed and walked to Erik's room. There was no door, but a red drape was pulled across the opening. "Erik?" I said quietly. "Can I talk to you? I want to apologise."

There was no answer.

Louder, I said, "Erik? Are you in there?" There was still no answer so I said firmly, "Right, I'm coming in. I don't care if you're mad at me," pushed the drape aside and went into his room. He was lying on his bed with his back to me and his mask was on the bedside cabinet nearest me. I knew he was awake as he shifted to make sure his head was buried in the pillow. I sighed and walked across to him. "You're mad at me, aren't you," I said as I sat down on the edge of his bed. "I don't blame you. I'd be mad at me." He was silent apart from his steady breathing. I picked up his mask and held it in my hands, running my fingers over the smooth, cool surface. I felt a wet patch on the inside just under the eye hole; he had been crying.

I twisted to face him and rested my hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Erik," I said softly, "I'm so sorry. I should never have said those horrible things. My temper got the better of me. I…I'm really sorry."

There was still no movement or any recognition of my apology. I sighed again and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm going to go make some food. If you want anything…" I trailed off as I realised that talking to someone who didn't want to talk back was pointless. I got up and walked out of his room making sure the drape swung shut behind me. As I left, I heard a stifled sob. Everything in me wanted to go back and hug him to death but I knew he didn't want me there so I went on to the kitchen and made some food. I don't know what it was or how it tasted. The only thing on my mind was Erik.

**-8 -**


	8. Talking again

**PhantomLover:** (if you're still here.) Don't worry, you're not being mean. I know I babble, it's one of my bad points. Hopefully the story will pick up. The first few chapters were just me figuring out where to go with the story. All grammar compliments are gratefully received by Microsoft Word.

**In His Darkness…**

He didn't come out of his room for a week after that. At least, I never saw him. I spent my time wandering around feeling lost and helpless. I tried to talk to him. Every day I went in to his room to bring him some food and talked to him. Every day I found him in the same position I had left him in the day before. I hadn't been lonely when I knew he was around but now I knew that he didn't want to speak to me, the loneliness was overwhelming. I began to miss my parents, my friends and, in one crazy moment of madness, Mark. I wanted to hear my parents' voices, even if I didn't see them. This urge got so strong that when Erik still hadn't come out of his room the following week I said to him, "I'm going outside. I mean, _out_side. I need to call my parents and let them know I'm safe. After all, I should have been back a least a fortnight ago. I'll be back soon." Then I left.

I went back up the way we had come down; along the corridor, through the chapel, out of the window and up the stone steps. It was great to be outside again with the wind blowing through my hair and the sun beating down on my skin. Being inside for so long makes you appreciate those things even more. I found a pay phone and dialled my home phone number.

"Hello?"

"Mum?"

"Oh, thank God. Where the hell are you!"

Now I knew I was in trouble-Mum never swears. "Mum, calm down. I'm in Paris."

"Paris! _Still_!"

I held the phone away from my ear and winced. "Yes, Paris and, yes, still. Didn't Mark tell you?"

"No! We haven't heard a word from either of you since you left! We thought something terrible had happened to you."

"I'm really sorry, Mum." I heard a man's voice in the background saying, "Is that her? I'm going to kill her."

"Mum? I need a favour. I'm planning on staying in Paris for a bit. A few months, maybe more. I've managed to land myself a job at the Opera Garnier so I can earn some cash but I need some of my music bits. I want to audition for the orchestra. And maybe some stuff to keep me entertained."

"You're joking. You ring me up and I find out that you're actually _alive_ and now I have to do you a _favour_! Not a chance."

"_Please_, Mum. If I don't have this stuff I'll lose this job."

"Fine. _Fine_! What's your address? I'll bring it over in the next week or so."

"…What do you mean, 'bring it over'?"

"Well, I'm not sending it. Have you any idea how much that'll cost!"

"Erk, fine." I gave her Guillaume's address. This would be difficult to explain to him. I might have to tell Erik, something I had been hoping to avoid.

"Now, what things do you want brought over?"

"Well…" I began a huge list containing everything from CDs and DVDs, to clothes, to sheet music. "And could you bring my piccolo as well?"

"Of course. Anything else while you're at it? The kitchen sink, perhaps?"

"Har de har har."

"Do you want a word with your father?"

I heard him say, "Yes, she bloody well does!"

"Er, no thanks. I'm not up to it at the moment. Say my money ran out. Which it's about to do so I'd better go. I love you, Mum. Give Dad a hug for me. Oh, and tell him that if Mark comes round, he has my permission to knock the bastard into the middle of next century."

"Ok…"

"Thanks. I love you. Bye."

"Bye, love."

I hung up the phone and stood still for a moment. It was harder speaking to my mum than I thought it would be. Now I had the added problem of what to tell Erik and Guillaume when she finally arrived. I also took the opportunity to ring my university and tell them that I wouldn't be coming back that year. The lecturer sounded disappointed but understanding when I told him that it just wasn't for me. I called some of my friends at university. They were shocked when I said I wouldn't be coming back, jealous when I told them where I was, and just plain mad when I told them about Mark. All manner of revenges were sworn to be carried out if he ever came near them, ranging from violent (kicking him hard somewhere squishy) to hilarious ("I'll cut off his balls and force them up his nose! I'm not joking!") but all involving the same part of his anatomy. Feeling a bit better, but still slightly homesick, I headed back to the Opera House.

**-8 -**

I went straight to my room, got my flute and began to play something I hadn't played since I was twelve. It was sweet and simple; something my mum had loved when I first played it to her. At the end, I put my flute down on the cabinet and fell onto my bed, letting the tears that had threatened since I had hung up the phone fall down my cheeks and soak the pillow. I sobbed noisily for what felt like ages. I realised that I only liked solitude if there was someone around to share it with. When my tears finally subsided, I lay on my bed quietly.

I felt someone sit down behind me. "Are you alright?"

"No," I sniffled.

"Turn over. Let me look at you," Erik said gently.

I shook my head. I knew I became very puffy and red when I'd been crying and I didn't want him to see.

"Please? You can't look worse than me," he said ruefully.

I wriggled round so I could fix him with as much of a glare as I could muster. "Don't say such horrible things about yourself, Erik. I don't care what people look like. It's what's inside that matters and if people don't see that then they're not important."

"I'm afraid that the inside is just as bad as the outside, my dear," he said softly with his head lowered.

I sat up and looked at him. "Nonsense. There's good in everyone."

"You're naïve."

"No I'm not. I'm trusting."

"Those are synonymous." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Anyway, what were you crying about?"

"Talking to me now, are we?" I smiled wryly before sighing. "I just spoke to my mum. I think she thought I was dead or something."

"She was angry?"

"Yes. But she calmed down enough for me to ask her to send me a few things. Except she refused to send them."

"No matter. We can easily buy the things you want."

"Oh, no, it's not that. It's just…" I looked down, "…she's bringing them over."

"I see. Well, this should be interesting. What do you plan to tell her?"

"I thought I could stay with Guillaume for a few days. I could tell her I'm lodging there."

He nodded. "You've through this through, I see. Very well, I will tell Guillaume what is going on. Do you have any idea what day she will arrive?"

"No. She said something about getting the cheapest train or flight."

"Very well. I will go and talk to Guillaume now." Erik stood and began to walk out of the room.

"Erik?" I called after him. He turned to face me. A thousand things went through my brain but I settled for a simple, "Thanks."

He smiled at me, turned and left.

**-8 -**


	9. Of the mother

Ok, so you get two chapters this time because this one is one of those annoying chapters that has to be there so that I can move on with the fic.

**WanderingChild24:** Wow, thanks for such a nice review. I'm glad you're enjoying it and hopefully these two chaps will prevent your imminent death. gives cookies

**In His Darkness…**

Sometime the next week, I don't remember which day exactly, Madeleine came to the Opera Garnier to tell us that my mother had arrived, carrying two huge bags and three smaller ones and looking quite pissed off. Guillaume had told her that I was out and would be back later, as we had arranged, and she had gone off around Montmartre until I came back. Together, Madeleine and I carried my flute, books, music, clothes and computer up to her house and into the same room that I had stayed in before.

"Madeleine," I said as I put my bags next to the ones my mum had brought, "thank you _so_ much for this."

"You are the friend of Guillaume's master. We had no choice."

Somehow I didn't think I was going to be very welcome.

I went into the main square and wandered round, looking for my mother. I soon spotted her sitting at a café drinking a coffee. I walked over to her and she stood up when she saw me. "Hi, Mum."

"Hello, love." We hugged. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too. I've missed you."

"We've missed you too," she replied, meaning her and my dad.

We chatted for a while and then went back to Guillaume's house. We decided to go out for dinner that night, especially since I didn't want to annoy Guillaume or Madeleine any more. Over dinner I asked, "How long are you planning on staying?"

"Oh, just 'til tomorrow. I can't stay any longer than that. I have to work."

"Ok."

"By the way, why did you want your dad to 'knock the bastard into the middle of next century'?"

"He hit me," I said simply.

"_What_!" she exclaimed, choking on her pasta.

"He hit me," I repeated. "A lot." I leaned forward and pushed my hair back so she could see the scar on my temple. "The bruises have healed completely."

"The…" I have never heard my mother swear so much in such a short space of time. To be honest, I was quite impressed.

"Nice imagery," I quipped as she growled something about testicles and a mincer.

"If he comes round, _I'll_ knock him into the middle of next century!"

The rest of the evening passed without incident and we went back to Guillaume's for the rest of the night.

**-8 -**

The next day I had to get mum back to the Gare du Nord for the midday train. We said our goodbyes on the platform and I waved her off as the train pulled out of the station. Her visit was short but sweet and, as I walked back to Montmartre, I realised I no longer missed home as much.

I collected most of my things from Guillaume's house, thanked him and Madeleine for their kindness and understanding, and headed back to the Opera House. Erik was waiting for me and he looked up with a smile on his face as I struggled into the cavern carrying bags in just about any way possible. "You have _got_ to widen that tunnel," I gasped.

He laughed and stood up from the organ stool where he had been sitting. He picked up two of the heaviest bags as though they were feathers and took them to my room. I followed behind carrying the lighter ones.

"Did your mother have a good time?"

"I guess so. She wasn't really here long enough to have any sort of time. Oh, excellent, she remembered!" I said excitedly, pulling a stack of DVDs out of a bag. I saw the spine of _Phantom_ and decided not to rifle through them in front of Erik. "I don't know when I'll be able to watch them though; both my computer batteries are nearly dead."

"You've been running it on batteries?" he said.

"Of course," I replied. "How else was I supposed to use it?"

"With the generator."

"Eh?"

"The generator." Erik walked over to one of the green velvet drapes and pushed it aside. Behind it, there was a hollow in the wall and in the hollow there was a small generator with two plug sockets on the side.

"You sure do keep with the times," I muttered. Then, louder, "Not that I'm not grateful, but why?"

He shrugged. "It gets much, much colder in the winter."

I snickered. "Aww, does poor ickle Erik get coldie toesies?"

He glowered at me. "I'll throw you in the lake. Don't think I won't." I liked the fact that we were back to bantering. I'd missed his company in the past ten days.

I grinned cheekily back at him and turned to inspect the rest of what mum had brought. As promised, there was a large case full of clothes, a rucksack full of books with CDs in the side pockets, a shoulder back full of DVDs, and a large carrier bag full of sheet music. Knowing that I'd asked for all of my _Phantom_ stuff, including the score and book, I decided to unpack my things later when I was alone. I dropped the handful of books I was holding onto the bed and walked out of my room to the kitchen. "Do you want something to eat?" I called over my shoulder to Erik.

"Please," he replied.

I made a salad and added some cold chicken I found. I drizzled a simple vinaigrette over the top and carried it to the table. I cut some thick slices from a baguette and smothered them in creamy butter. I put the bread on a plate and carried it, two empty plates and some cutlery to the table before pouring some cold orange juice into two glasses. "Food's up!" I called to Erik.

I sat down at the table with my back to the door so I didn't see what he was carrying until he sat down. "I didn't know you composed."

I glanced up and saw his hand resting on a dark blue folder. "Those are arrangements, not compositions." I went back to my food. Then something clicked. "Have you been going through my things?" I glared accusatorially.

"I hardly call 'picking up an interesting folder that happened to be lying around' going through someone's possessions," he replied calmly before turning his attention to the food. "This is good."

"Don't sound so surprised. And don't change the subject. Why were you looking through my stuff?"

"I wafnff," he answered through a mouthful of bread.

"Ew."

He swallowed. "Sorry. I said, 'I wasn't'."

"I know. Mark had similar table manners." I shuddered at memories of food spraying everywhere when his football team had won that day. Erik smirked. "Don't smirk at me or next time it'll be ground glass instead of chicken."

He smirked at me again and I shook my head in exasperation. We ate in silence for a few more minutes until I said, "I'll have to go to Guillaume's tomorrow to get the rest of my stuff." Erik choked on something. I think it might have been lettuce. "There's only one more bag!" I said defensively. "A small one. Ish."

"Ish?"

"I do not have to say anything if it may harm my defence when later questioned in a court of law," I quoted.

"Women," he muttered, before viciously spearing piece of chicken.

"I will ignore that remark…" he gave me an innocent look "…if you do the washing up while I unpack."

"Done."

**-8 -**

After we finished eating, I went to my room leaving Erik with an obscene amount of washing up. Somehow, I always manage to use the maximum amount of utensils possible, even when making a salad. I unpacked all of my bags, putting my _Phantom_ DVD, CD, book, score, programme and all my other _Phantom _related paraphernalia at the back of the bottom drawer inside a cabinet. I wanted to show them to Erik, but this was not the right time. I would know when it was.

My books were put on the bookshelf in alphabetical order, followed by my CDs, then DVDS. I can be such a neat freak sometimes. My sheet music was put in a cabinet with separate piles for flute and piano music. I hung my trousers, skirts and shirts in the wardrobe and folded some t-shirts in a drawer. The only stuff I had left at Guillaume's was my piccolo, a few magazines and some more sheet music (hey, I have been playing for ten years, ok?) so it would be easy enough to bring it down here. I also wanted to thank Guillaume and Madeleine properly but I wasn't sure how. I didn't want to ask Erik for ideas; he'd probably just suggest giving them money which I hadn't got.

Money. That was another thing. I was going to have to get a job. I wasn't really bothered about where I could work, as long as it was nearby. I was going to have to go up again and look for work. I decided to do all of that when I went to Guillaume's house.

**-8 -**


	10. A job and an opera

**In His Darkness…**

The next day, I went up again. I collected my things from Guillaume, thanked him and Madeleine again and went into the city to find somewhere that was hiring. Now, I don't have that many skills apart from music. I worked in a shop for six months but that's about it and my French wasn't good enough to try and get a job teaching English. Slightly downhearted, I went back home. Home. I like that.

I threw my things down on my bed and stomped out to the music room to find Erik.

"In a mood again?" he asked without looking up.

"Yes," I growled. "No-one wants to hire an English girl with top exam results and part of a degree."

"You're overqualified."

"Hmph." I flopped down on the floor next to where he was seated on the piano stool.

He looked down at me and sighed. "Do you really want a job?"

"No," I replied, "I need one."

"I'll see what I can do." He turned back to the manuscript in front of him and began scribbling.

"What do you mean?"

He made a noise that sounded like 'Gah!' and crossed something out fiercely. I decided to leave him to it and put away the rest of my stuff.

**-8 -**

About a week later, Erik came to where I was crashed out on my bed flicking through an old gossip magazine. "You have a meeting with the managers about a part-time cleaning job this afternoon at three."

"What?"

"You have a meeting with the managers ab…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I interrupted. "I meant, what do you mean 'cleaning'?"

"It's either cleaning or restoring one of the gargoyles on the roof."

I grimaced. "Cleaning it is then."

"Take your flute; you need to practise."

"Cheeky."

**-8 -**

At two forty-five that afternoon, I made my way up and went into the theatre by the main entrance. As instructed, I had taken my flute and some music along to practise. I hadn't been playing much at home as Erik had been buried in some composition or other and I didn't want to disturb him. I told the porter at the reception that I had a meeting with the managers and he took me through to their office. A plaque on the door told me that their names were M. and Mme. LaCroix.

I knocked on the door and went in. Mme. LaCroix was seated behind her desk with paperwork everywhere. It looked like a final resting place for coffee mugs.

"Bonjour, Madame. I'm here about the cleaning job?"

"Ah, yes, I was expecting you," said Mme. LaCroix. "Please take a seat."

I lifted a pile of paper off a chair and set it on the desk in front of her so I could sit down.

"I'm sorry that my husband could not be here. He had pressing business." She rummaged through a few papers on her desk and I waited for her to continue. "Now, I will be honest with you, mademoiselle. We do not need another cleaner."

"Well then, Madame, I am sorry to have wasted your time." I got up and turned to leave.

"Wait. Unfortunately, I have no choice but to employ you, mademoiselle. You will work every weekday from four until seven, cleaning the auditorium. There are fifteen other people working there so you will have to fit in somewhere. You start today."

"Fine. I'll be back in an hour." I picked up my flute and tried to leave again.

"You are a musician?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No. I am just surprised that we were not told. Here," she handed me a note written on thick parchment, "read."

I took the note and read.

_My dear Monsieur et Madame._

_A girl will come to you at three tomorrow afternoon and you will employ her. She has both the brains and the talent to work for you in any position you care to give. When she has finished her duties, she will have the dressing room at the end of the third corridor for an hour to be used as she wishes._

_Also, Monsieur, as I have already informed you, that 2nd trumpet is a disgrace. As is the leader of the third dance row. They must be fired immediately. Promote the newest dancer on the third row to leader._

_I remain, my dear devoted managers,_

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

"Huh," I said, handing her the note. "I take it that your husband is with one of the people mentioned?"

Mme. LaCroix nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. If you are good enough we shall see if there is a space in the pit for you."

I was surprised. "Thank you, Madame. Now, I'm sorry, but I really must go."

"Of course. Be in the auditorium at four."

I nodded and left.

**-8 -**

At four, I was in the auditorium standing next to Madame LaCroix as she introduced me, in French, to the rest of the cleaning staff. None of them spoke very good English and all of them were hopeful dancers, singers, actors and musicians starting out at the bottom and trying to work their way up. As we worked, we talked. We got to know each other through broken English and half decent French. Monique spoke the best English and so I spent a lot of my time with her. She was also near my age, in her early twenties I guessed, so we had mutual interests. She had fiery red hair that fell around her shoulders that she wore tied back but a few of her ringlets (ringlets! I was so jealous) had fallen forward around her face. She had sparkling bright blue eyes that lit up when she smiled or laughed, which she did very often; usually at my French accent. She had very pale skin and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. I warmed to her instantly and over time we became close friends.

I was surprised when the end of the shift came. I hadn't realised that three hours could pass so quickly when cleaning. Madame LaCroix took me to the dressing room as promised. It was quite large with a vanity table and mirror surrounded by lights along one wall. There was a decorative screen in one corner and costumes were hanging up next to it. There was also a full length mirror against one wall and a folded music stand was on the floor next to it. I set up the music stand, took out my flute and some music and began to do some warm up exercises.

When I was warmed up, I ran through a few easy pieces and then began to concentrate on a difficult passage in a flute concerto. To this day, I still can't get it right first time. I worked through the concerto and another sonata for the hour that I had. When I'd finished, I left the Opera House and went back home through the chapel.

Erik was still sitting at the piano, testing out chords and writing them down on the manuscript in front of him. "Did you have a good time?" he asked without looking up.

"No, I went to work," I muttered. "I'm hungry. Have you eaten yet?"

"No," he said distractedly.

I went to the kitchen and made some sandwiches and salad. I added some nuts and fruit to the plates before taking them over to Erik and sitting down on a chair next to him to eat. When I had finished, he still hadn't touched his food. "Erik, please stop working and eat something," I said.

"In a minute…"

I sighed and took my plate back to wash up. I went to my room and read for a few hours. Nearly three. I didn't realise that it was past eleven until I started to yawn more frequently. I went back out to check on Erik and found him still seated at the piano. His food had been picked at but there was still a lot left. "Erik," I admonished, "you need to eat."

"I have."

"I mean more than a few nuts and grapes."

"Hmmm…"

"Can I have a look?"

"Hmmm…"

I assumed that was positive so I picked up the bundle of sheets lying on top of the piano. It was a full scale opera. It hadn't been given a title yet but I could see from the opening that this would be one hell of a show. The overture used lots of 'nice' chords and some clashy ones, and the melody leaped up and down scales. "Wow. This is going to need a _very_ good clarinettist."

"Hmmm…"

I put the manuscript down and stood behind him so I could see what he was writing. It was an aria for the lead soprano. "That's going to sound amazing." He had written a solo violin part so that it was playing a third above the soprano. Three solo horns were playing a mournful accompaniment underneath.

"I hope so."

I rested my hands on his shoulders. "I'm going to bed now. It's quite late. Please try and

finish your food."

"I will."

"And don't work all night. Get some sleep."

"I will."

Then I surprised us both. I bent forward from behind him and kissed his bare cheek. "Don't work too hard," I said softly. I turned and went to my room. At the entrance, I turned back to look at him and saw him sitting there with his hand on his cheek where I had kissed him. Then he picked up one of the sandwiches and began to eat.

Satisfied, I went into my room, climbed into bed and fell asleep.

**-8 -**

Now I want some more reviews. No more chapters until I get five _new_ reviews. (Hinthint)


	11. The first argument

**Wandering Child24:** Wow, another great review! Thanks for the support D

**Madame Opera Ghost:** Ooh, a newbie. Thanks for the review. :gives cookies:

**JS:** If only one person enjoys this fic then I don't consider it a waste of time. I'm going to keep writing it, if only for me. As a firm believer of the 'don't like, don't read' policy, I don't suppose you'll get to read this. Shame.

Anyway, here's the next chapter. You'll discover that Marguerite is very temperamental and quick to anger, but also quick to forgive. It's a character flaw that I find in so many RL people so I wanted to put it in here.

**In His Darkness…**

The next few months passed in the same way. Erik worked on his opera while I worked, practiced and persuaded him to eat. By now, it was the middle of November. I hadn't realised how quickly the time had passed until, as promised, it began to get incredibly cold. I hadn't bothered to pack any warm clothes when I first came, and obviously mum had thought I'd be back before winter. I spent a lot of time shivering, complaining and stealing Erik's jackets to wear.

"That's it!" he said, when he found I'd nicked his last clean jacket. "Out! Go shopping!"

"Where?"

"Anywhere! You have money, so go spend it!"

He sounded pretty mad so I gave him his jacket back and went to my room to collect my purse and the thin shirt I'd brought with me back in July. "I'm off," I said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek-something that had become normal over the few months he had been working on his opera. "See you later."

"GO!"

**-8 -**

I was out for most of the day. I'm terrible when it comes to shopping. I look in every shop, trying things on, and then go back to the first shop to buy what I originally liked in the first place. I also spend ages browsing through things I can't afford or things I shouldn't be buying. I came home with three jumpers, a coat and two more 'going out' tops. I put away everything except one of the jumpers. I yanked off the tag and pulled the warm fleece jumper over my head. It was a few sizes too big, just the way I like it.

Erik was in the music room, as usual. I walked over to him and sat on the piano stool next to him. He was staring at the score with a blank look on his face.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"It's finished," he said hollowly.

"Really?" I said excitedly. "That's brilliant. When is it going to get shown?"

"It isn't."

"_What!_"

"It's terrible," he got up and stormed off.

I picked up the heavy score and flicked through it. As far as I could tell, it was brilliant. The libretto was at the back and as I read it, along with the score, I could see that the music fit the mood and emotions perfectly. I got up and carried the score through to Erik's room. He was lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling. I perched on the edge of the bed and lay the manuscript on his stomach. "It's amazing," I said. "I can see the costumes now, the lights, the colour, everything. Why can't you?"

Silence.

"You can't give me the silent treatment again, Erik. I won't put up with it."

Silence.

"Are you awake?"

Silence.

"Are you even alive?"

His eyes flicked across to look at me and then he went back to staring at the ceiling.

"I'll take that as a yes."

More silence.

"Right, I'm fed up of having a one-sided conversation. I'm going to go and do naked cartwheels in the lake."

His face twitched as though he was trying not to smile.

"I think that was a smile. Mission accomplished. Victory dance!" I got up and did a stupid little arms-and-legs-waving-everywhere dance out of the room.

Standing outside with a grin on my face, I heard stifled sniggering. I poked my head round the door to see Erik sitting up with the score in his hands. "You're an idiot."

"I try," I replied proudly. "So," I said, walking into the room, "have you changed your mind about showing the opera?"

"I'm thinking about it."

I sat down next to him. "Good."

We sat in silence for a few minutes until Erik stood, handed me the manuscript and headed for the kitchen. "I hope you're hungry."

"As always."

**-8 -**

After a huge meal (it's amazing what the guy can come up with), I fetched a book and sat on the shore of the lake next to the boat. I slipped off my shoes and dabbled my feet in the cold water as I read my favourite Stephen King novel. Erik was playing a piece I didn't recognise on his organ. From time to time he would stop and redo a section changing the harmony or rhythm slightly until he felt it was perfect. That's Erik-a perfectionist.

He'd turned on one of the small heaters and it was sitting next to him. I was getting kind of hot so I put my book down and pulled off my jumper.

"I hope you're not seriously considering those naked cartwheels."

I twisted round to face him and stuck my tongue out before turning back to my book. I was so absorbed that I didn't hear him until he was sitting next to me. "Good book?"

"Yep. It's one of my favourites."

"_The Shining_," he read off the cover. "What's it about?"

"It's about a family who are taking care of this hotel when it's closed over the winter. The little boy has 'the shining', which is telekinesis. Mind reading," I said to his puzzled look. "Anyway, this hotel is haunted, possessed really, by the spirits of all the people that have died in it. It takes over the mind of the father and makes him hallucinate and do all sorts of things. He tries to kill his wife and little boy. Eventually, the mother and son escape with the help of one of the chefs who also has the shining. The hotel blows up with the father in it. It was made into a movie. It was really scary; I couldn't get past the first half hour."

"Sounds good."

"I probably didn't do it justice."

"I suppose it's not the first book to be made into a movie?"

"Hell, no. _The Horse Whisperer_,_ Lord of the Rings_, _Harry Potter_, _The Beach_," I listed, ticking them off on my fingers. "Loads of classics as well, like _Great Expectations_ and _Pride and Prejudice_. They were all books."

"Interesting, but not the book I was thinking of."

I had a feeling where this was going. "Oh?" I asked innocently.

"Yes." He fixed me with his golden-eyed gaze. "You know what I mean."

"Er."

"I want to find out how an awful little novel by a third rate journalist became so famous."

"You what?"

"Leroux. He was seeing one of the dancers here, a Christine something-or-other."

"Er."

"She had a friend called Megan. The little brat was always talking. Chatter, chatter, chatter. Drove me mad."

I made a strangled squeak that sounded like a mouse being trodden on.

"Show me."

"No."

"Show me."

"No, Erik. Not yet."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Because you're not ready."

"Hmph."

I looked at him with my head to one side. "You sulk like a child."

"Why do people keep saying that!"

"Oh, Erik," I said wearily. I took his hand and rested my head on his shoulder. "I should never have told you about it. Besides," I lied, "I don't have anything that would interest you with me."

"Fine. I'll leave you to your book." He got up suddenly and went to his room.

I stood up and carried my book and shoes back to my room. I pulled the drape across the entrance and went to the cupboard. I rummaged around at the back of the bottom drawer and pulled out my copy of Leroux's book. I closed the drawer, stood up and nudged the cupboard door closed with my foot. I crossed to my bed and leant against the wall with my legs curled up under me. I stared at the cover for a moment before flicking it open and beginning to read.

I'd only got about twenty pages in when I felt someone watching me. I hurriedly folded down the corner of the page I was on and slammed the book face down onto the bed. I looked up towards the drape…and saw nothing. It hadn't been moved. I flicked my eyes round the room at the pictures, cupboards, wardrobe and bookshelves. I saw something move out of the corner of my eyes and swung my head round to look more intently at the drape. "Erik?" I called.

Silence.

I picked up my book again and started to read. I was still feeling uneasy but as I began to sink back into Leroux's world, the feeling faded. I was dragged out of the masquerade ball by a scraping sound coming from the wall above my head. I put my book down and twisted round to look up at the wall. The rough, pitted wall was bare of pictures and drapes. One of the stones embedded in the wall was surrounded by dust, as though it had been ground out. I looked down at my shoulder and saw a sprinkling of rock dust there.

"Bastard," I said to myself.

I leapt off the bed and stomped out of my room. Erik was in his bedroom sitting on his bed with his legs outstretched and a book in his hands. My book.

"How dare you!" I hissed. My fists were clenched at my sides and if looks could kill, Erik would be dead and buried.

He raised his eyebrows at me and for a moment he looked a bit scared. "Erm…"

"How dare you _spy_ on me!" I spat at him. If he hadn't looked so terrified I would have stormed over there and slapped him.

"I haven't b…"

"Don't you _dare_ try and deny it, you complete and utter perv!"

"But…"

"I _heard_ you. I heard you close that bloody peep hole of yours," I yelled. I moved closer to the bed and was pleased to see him fold his legs up under him to protect himself. "Are you proud of yourself? You've humiliated me! God, when I think about what you've seen…" I whirled on him from where I'd been pacing around the room. "Did you enjoy it? Have you fulfilled one of your sordid little fantasies?" I screwed up my face in disgust. "You're sick, you know that? Completely. Sick. I'm out of here," I said as I turned and walked out of the room. I'd only just got outside before I turned back and walked towards him purposefully. I snatched the book out of his hands and glared at him before turning and leaving sitting on his bed looking stunned.

**-8 -**


	12. Telling

**WanderingChild24:** Right, here we find out about the Christine thing. Hopefully. It will all get explained fully (sort of) in later chapters. I really hope I'm making myself clear. Yes, they do have a good, if volatile, friendship. Humour is something I move towards as my writing becomes more confident.

Two chapters so close together :gasp: I know, it's shocking. However, I am excruciatingly bored, and figured I might as well waste time online. There is some mild language in this chapter...actually there's mild language in all of the chapters. Hmm...

**In His Darkness…**

As soon as I'd got into my room I let loose a frustrated, angry yell and threw the book I was holding against the far wall. It bounced back and hit the lamp on the dresser, sending it crashing to the floor. "Argh." I stomped over to the book and picked it up, brushing bits of broken glass off its cover. Alexandre Dumas' _The Man in the Iron Mask_. Bloody ironic. I began to pack furiously. I mean that in both senses of the word; I was still steaming at Erik. As I began to throw my clothes haphazardly into my rucksack, I heard a swish as the drape was pushed open. I span round and came face to face with Erik-he can move quickly and silently when he wants to.

"Don't go," he said quietly, reaching out to touch my arm.

"If you think I'm staying here with you, you're out of your warped little mind!" I spat back, slapping his hand away.

His eyes filled with hurt and his face crumpled. "I owe you an explanation."

"Damn right you do!"

"I was looking through the peep hole…" I opened my mouth to yell at him some more but he put a hand over my mouth "…but it was the first time I'd used it, I swear."

"Why?" I said, or tried to say.

He sighed and dropped his hand from my mouth. He sat down on my bed and put his head in his hands. He looked so dejected and upset that I couldn't help forgetting my anger and sitting down next to him. "Why?" I whispered.

"I wanted to see if you were lying to me. Turns out I was right."

I blushed slightly and mumbled, "I have my reasons."

He turned his head so he could look at me. "What are they?"

"You know what they are," I said exasperatedly.

"Tell me." His voice was calm and level but it still held a command.

I sighed and wriggled back on my bed so my back was resting against the wall. "First off, I shouldn't have said anything. Especially not like that. I seriously thought that you knew a little about how famous you are. You're over 140 years old for goodness sake! I don't see how you could have missed all of the hype. When I yelled at you that time, I thought you'd just brush it off because you knew. I didn't realise how hard you'd take it."

He nodded slowly. "I see."

"I didn't want to say anything more," I continued, "because I thought you'd do something stupid. I didn't want you to run off and, I don't know, do whatever you do when you get mad. I can just about remember what you did to that mugger."

"You thought I'd go on a murderous rampage!"

"Hey, you have to remember that all I know about you I've found out from books, movies and a musical. It's not exactly a basis for definitive fact."

"OK," he said as he slid across the bed to lean on the wall next to me, "tell me what you think you know about me."

I fixed him with a piercing look (grey eyes are good for something). "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"OK." I began to talk. I leaned across him and picked up my copy of the novel from where it was still lying, face down, on the bed. "I take it you know about this?"

He nodded. "Still, tell me what you found out from that."

"OK."

I took a deep breath and began to talk. I told him about how his temper was the one thing out of all the reincarnations that came across. I told him about the mad obsession that formed the base of all the stories. I showed him a few passages and told him about the Persian.

He smiled in recognition and said, "Yes, there was a Persian scene-changer here for a few years. He hardly left the theatre. I think he wanted to solve the mystery of the ghost all by himself."

I got up and went to the bottom drawer in the cupboard where I'd hidden all of my _Phantom_ stuff. I pulled out the plastic bag that held it all and carried it back to where I'd been sitting. I put the bag next to me, on the side away from Erik, and pulled out Kay's book. I rested the old copy on my lap and began to tell him about it. "This is about you," I began, "or what the author thinks happened in your life." I talked him through each chapter. At times he nodded his head in recognition, sometimes he corrected facts and at others he snorted derisively. "She was supposed to be a likeness of my mother! Oh, please!"

"Hey, I think that bit's sweet," I said defensively.

He sniggered. I poked him in the ribs.

I moved on to the musical. I pulled the brochure and programme out of the bag and handed them to him to read. "Eighteen years?"

I nodded. I began to tell him as much of the history of the musical as I could remember. "…and now it's been made into a movie. It's not the first film adaptation of the book though. That was a silent movie back in the twenties. Lon Chaney played you…" I rambled on for a while about the different movies that had been made. I paused in my ramble to pull out the CD, DVD and piano score from the bag next to me. "I don't know why I bought the score. I can barely play one tune from it."

"Which one?"

"Uh, this one," I said, flicking through the score until I came to _Music of the Night_.

"Play it for me."

"Um, later," I said, resolving never to play it in front of him. I looked at his calm expression as he studied the mound of objects next to him. "You're taking this very well."

"I don't have much choice."

"Fair point."

He picked up the DVD. "Can we watch this?"

"Some other time, eh? It's late."

"No it isn't, it's only," he grabbed my wrist and twisted it so he could look at my watch, "twelve thirty."

I looked at him pointedly.

"Ok. Tomorrow?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're going to block up that bloody peep hole."

"Still angry about that, huh?"

"If I was still angry, your head would have parted company with your neck. I'm merely-" I paused to think of the right word, "-irritated."

"Hmmm. Well, I'll leave you to get ready for bed." He picked up my copy of Kay's book. "Can I borrow this?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

I shrugged and gestured for him to take it. He picked up the book, turned and left. I began to put my half packed bags on the floor.

"Marguerite?"

As ever, hearing the French version of my name in that musical voice made me drool. I checked that there were no obvious signs of slobbering and turned to face him. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

I smiled at him. "Apology accepted."

**-8 -**


	13. An opera ghost? Nonsense!

Right, from here on in, the chapters are getting longer. Even so, they are still taking me roughly the same amount of time :gasp: I think my muse likes coming to life at about elevn pm and making me stay up until one in the morning. :shakes fist at muse:

I rather like this chapter, and the following one as well. I think they're my favourites. Enjoy!

**In His Darkness…**

I didn't sleep much that night. I know it seems as though I was calm and expecting it but I really wasn't. I mean, I Really Wasn't with a capital R-W. The things he had agreed with in the books were the bits I had hoped were total fantasy. I noticed that when I talked about the torture chamber and thekhanum in Persia he went very quiet. I didn't sleep very well that night. I couldn't drift off. My mind was buzzing and I was worried about how he'd take the part of the film where she takes off the mask. Mind you, I was hoping that it would give me an opening to ask him about it. Even though the books and everything else give descriptions, only Erik knows what's under there. I guess I'm too curious for my own good. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.

Anyway, I woke early the next morning not feeling rested at all. I went to the bathroom and splashed freezing cold water on my face to try and look awake before going back to my room to get dressed. I turned up the oil lamp at the side of the mirror as I brushed my hair and grimaced at the dark smudges under my eyes. Yawning widely, I went to the kitchen and found some bread and cheese to eat. Still eating, I went to the lounge and found Erik sitting in one of the chairs with his feet up on the low table.

"Are you _still_ reading!" I asked loudly.

He jumped and dropped the book, causing me to try and snigger with a mouthful of bread and choking.

"Yes," he said over my coughs, picking up the book and finding his page.

When I'd finished coughing, I sat down on the other chair and said, "How far through are you?"

"I'm dead, so is Christine, and there are so many hints that Charles is my son it's unbelievable," he replied.

"Yeah, I know," I said, popping the last bit of cheese in my mouth, "but it makes for a decent plot twist."

He glowered at me over the top of the book.

"Don't look at me like that!" I said innocently. "I didn't write it."

He went back to his reading and I sat with my feet towards the fire keeping warm.

About ten minutes later, he closed the book and set it on the table in front of him. "What time is it?"

"Ten to nine," I yawned.

"So why are you awake?" he asked, smirking at me.

"I couldn't sleep," I replied, "and don't be cheeky."

He smirked at me again, yawned expansively, stretched and stood up. "I'm going to sort out everything for Guillaume. Do you have any washing to give him?"

"Yup, I'll go get it." I went to my room and, like I'd been doing every ten days or so, piled dirty washing into my rucksack for Guillaume to get cleaned. Erik met him under a little used bridge over the Seine where the lake meets the river where he would give him the dirty laundry and his wage, and collect food and other supplies.

I went to the shore of the lake and gave the rucksack to Erik where he was standing in the boat. "Don't be long," I said, reaching up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Yes, mother," he replied sarcastically as he pushed the boat away from the shore to the archway that separated the cavern from the rest of the lake.

"Cheeky git," I called after him.

I heard him laugh as the boat moved swiftly through the archway and out of sight.

He didn't take long on these trips-ten minutes at the most-so I used the time I was alone to play the piano. I've only ever played in front of him once, and that was ages ago. I fetched some of the piano books from my room and went to the music room to practise. I opened the first book to _Greensleeves_ and played through it a few times until my fingers warmed up. I hadn't played it in ages so the finger movements didn't come back very easily but, on the third play through, it finally clicked. Smiling, I turned the pages to _Für Elise_ and rattled that off pretty easily. I picked up the last book but glanced nervously over my shoulder through the door where I could see the lake before starting to play. _Music of the Night_ is possibly my favourite song from the musical and is, mostly, the easiest to play. I played through the beginning verses easily, hearing the words in my head. I struggled through the key change-flats I can do, sharps are a different matter-before it went back into the verse again. I got through the next key change (just) and into the final verse. This section had quavers in the left hand instead of chords but, having practised it since I got the book, I played it easily. That section is my favourite part of the piece-the quaver accompaniment fits the _'floating, falling…'_ lyrics perfectly. The final instrumental is quite hard but the parts I usually struggle over seemed to click and I got to the final chord progression with minimal slip-ups. There are only two people in the world who could get away with that chord progression-one of them wrote it and the other is a 'fictional character'. You know who I mean.

As the final D flat major chord died away, I heard a soft footstep behind me. I quickly moved the first book on top of one I had been playing from and turned round.

"That was very good," said Erik.

"You sound surprised," I said, trying not to sound too offended.

"I am a bit," he said. "I don't see why you never play for me."

"I do play for you," I protested. "I play my flute."

"But never the piano."

I shrugged.

"You have a letter," he said handing me an envelope.

I took it and immediately recognised the handwriting. "It's from my parents."

"I thought so."

"How?"

"They're the only people in England with Guillaume's address."

"Good point." Picking up the piano books, I went to my room and flopped down on my bed to read the letter. As I tore open the envelope, €300 fell out. "Blimey," I mumbled. I opened the letter and began to read;

_M,_

_Hope this letter finds you well. Hopefully you haven't moved out of that place you were staying in and if you have, well, I hope you left a forwarding address._

_The enclosed is so you can buy some warm clothes for the winter-if I'd known you were staying this long I would have brought some with me. Speaking of staying there, you do realise that you've been there almost four months? I know you like it there and that you're trying to prove a point but don't you think you're being a bit unreasonable? But don't mind me; I'm just your mother. What do I know!_

_How's the job going? Didn't you say something about trying out for the orchestra? Hopefully you got in and are having a great time and _working hard_ or, if not, that the job you've got instead is going well._

_Anyway, we hope (well, I do-your dad wants you home _now_) that you're having a good time there. I know it's not really a holiday as such but that's no reason why you shouldn't be having any fun._

_Thinking of holidays, are you going to be home for Christmas? If not, where do we send your present and cards to? We do want you home for Christmas, love. It wouldn't be the same without you._

_Well, I must close now or I'll be late for work._

_Your dad sends his love,_

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Mum._

_P.S. Mark came round demanding to know where you were. Your dad was out so I invited him in, poured him a cup of tea (over his head) and yelled at him that if he came near us again I'd set next-door's cat on him. Well, you know what his allergies are like!_

When I'd read the P.S., I let out a huge bark of laughter before dissolving into giggles.

Erik peered round the door looking bemused. Still giggling, I handed him the letter. He leant in the doorway to read it and I watched his expression change from confusion to amusement. "I could learn to like your mother," he said, handing the letter back.

"So could I," I replied, waving the bundle of euros at him.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, "I could _really _learn to like your mother!"

I laughed and slid the money and letter back into the envelope before putting the whole lot into a drawer. "What's the time?"

"Nine-thirty."

"I'm meeting Monique in half an hour. We're going shopping."

"Don't forget you're working tonight."

"I won't. Now go away and let me get ready."

Erik turned and left the room, letting the green drape swing shut behind him.

**-8 -**

I spent the day with Monique. We were getting quite close now, even agreeing that she would speak to me in English and I would speak in French so we could practice. She had invited me round to her house a few times but I'd always refused though because I knew I could never make the same offer. That morning I'd made sure I bought a small electric kettle and some hot chocolate powder so I could have a hot drink at home without waiting for a huge pan of water to boil over a fire.

"So," she said over a well-earned lunch, "what is his name?"

I spluttered into my coffee. "What are you taking about?"

"En français!"

"Er, Qu'est-ce que tu dits?"

"Well done," she smiled. "I was not definite, but now I am."

"'I wasn't _sure_'," I corrected.

"Whatever," she said with a delicate wave of her hand.

"I'm giving you bad habits."

"En français! And don't change the topic."

"'The subject'. It's less formal."

"Gah!" she exclaimed loudly, so the whole café turned to look at us. "You English! You are so annoying."

"Les français, tu est trés, erm, loud," I finished feebly.

She stopped glaring at me and sniggered. "'Trés loud?"

I shrugged.

"You learnt French for years and you never learnt the word for 'loud'!"

"I didn't need to! All I needed to do was talk about my home town, order a cheese sandwich and be able to ask the way to the beach in a loud voice," I protested. "Oh, but I did learn how to order beer."

She sniggered at me again. "Well, it's _fort_"

"Thanks." There was a pause in which I though she had dropped the subject. I glanced up at her to see her looking at me expectantly.

"Well…?" she said encouragingly.

"Well, what?"

"Who is he!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, you insane Frenchwoman."

"Pah!" she said with another wave of her hand. "You insist to meet me at the opera house, but you say you live nowhere near there. You must have a man!"

"No I don't, and it's 'insist _on meeting_ me'."

"I do not believe you."

"Hey, English is my native language thank y…," I broke off when I saw she was looking highly unimpressed with my attempt at humour. "Oh, you meant about… Well, tough," I said firmly and began to finish off my food.

"Fine," she said huffily, "but don't think you are getting away this easy."

"'That easily'."

"Gah!"

**-8 -**

Monique and I took our time in the city so it was a bit of a rush to get back to the opera house for our four o'clock start on our shift. We arrived out of breath and giggling like good little school girls who have just discovered how thrilling it is to be thirty seconds late for class. We left our shopping in the broom cupboard backstage and went out into the auditorium, calling "Salut!" to some of the other cleaners.

"You two are doing the Grand Circle today!" called out one of the other cleaners.

"D'accord!" I called back. "Come on," I said to Monique, "let's get started."

"I hate doing the Grand Circle," she moaned.

"Why?" I asked as we climbed the stairs up to the balcony that led to the entrance to the grand circle.

"Because of the ghost!"

We stopped outside the door to the first box. "What ghost?" I asked scornfully.

"The opera ghost," she replied as she unlocked the door and held it open so I could carry in the cleaning things. "Le Fantôme de L'Opéra."

I looked at her incredulously. "You believe in the Phantom of the Opera?" I asked.

"Of course! I have seen him!"

"Where?"

"In his box."

I gawped at her.

"I was cleaning one of the other boxes over there," she said waving the vacuum nozzle at the other side of the auditorium. "I think it was box eleven. I looked across and saw a tall dark-haired man standing in the shadows. He sensed me watching him and turned to look at me. He was wearing a white half-mask, like in all the stories! I screamed and pointed, but when everyone came rushing up to see what the matter was, he had disappeared!"

"I don't believe you," I stated, beginning to clean the gold decorations on the edges of the box.

"It's true," she said indignantly. "You will see. When we get to box five, I will show you." Then she turned on the vacuum cleaner and we couldn't talk any more.

**-8 -**


	14. A story

Ok, _this_ is my favourite chapter. We have senseofhumour!Erik and makesafoolofhimself!Erik. One part in here had me in hysterics while I was writing it. However, we do have a serious bit where we find out why Erik is still here. Omg, (incredibly vague) plotline! Hope you all like it!

**In His Darkness…**

When we got to box five, Monique entered nervously. She looked carefully around the box before letting me inside. I sighed impatiently, putting on the air of someone who is only going through with this to humour her friend.

"There!" she said triumphantly, pointing to the foremost chair.

I stepped forward to look. A programme from the night before was resting on the chair.

"Where?" I asked, confusedly.

"The programme!" she said excitedly.

I picked it up and looked at it. It was just an ordinary programme. Just as I was about to tell this to Monique, and silently 'congratulate' Erik on his carelessness, I saw a rose drawn on the corner of the front page. It was a simple design-just a few black lines to give the impression of a rose-but one I had seen many times on Erik's manuscripts and on the flyleaf of his books. I looked up at Monique and said, in a flat unenthusiastic voice, "It's a programme."

"But…the rose!" she said, looking crushed.

"Oh, anyone could have drawn that," I said putting the programme down on the chair.

"_Not just anyone._"

"Of course it could have been anyone. I could draw that if I wanted to." I turned round to see that Monique had gone even paler than usual. "Are you all right?" I asked concernedly.

"I didn't say that."

"Say what?"

"'Not just anyone'. That was not me."

"Who was it then? The _opera ghost_?" I said disdainfully.

"_Yes._"

Monique gave a strangled squeak and rushed out of the box. I peered out of the door to see her practically running along the hall. I stepped back into the box and shook my head. I could hear faint chuckling from one of the columns. On the pretext of cleaning some of the gold next to it, I whispered, "You are an evil git, you know that?"

"That was fun," Erik replied. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"How did you get in there anyway?"

There wasa soft click and a wood panel next to the column slid open. Erik's head poked round the edge of the gap. "I can't come out any further in case anyone sees me."

"You didn't care when Monique saw you."

He shrugged. "I have to keep up my reputation as a ghost somehow."

I grinned at him and he smiled back. "Look," I said, "I'm coming straight home after I've finished. I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep too well last night."

"Really? Why?"

I shrugged. "I'll tell you later," I replied, knowing full well that I wasn't.

His brow wrinkled but he quelled his curiosity and said, "Fine. I'll see you in a few hours then."

"Yep, see you in a bit." He made to move back inside the panel but I stopped him. "Wait. How are you getting back? Through the walls?"

He tapped the side of his nose. "I have my ways," and disappeared. The panel slid shut with a click and I continued with my cleaning.

When I had finished box five, I leant over the front of the box and called, "Monique?"

A few of the cleaners looked up at me but I couldn't see Monique's flaming hair amongst any of them.

"Pierre!" I called. "Oú est Monique?"

"Je ne sais pas, Marguerite. I look for her, yes?" he replied eagerly.

"Non, merci, Pierre. C'est bon."

He shrugged and turned back to his work. Pierre was a very sweet 24-yr old singer who had just joined us after Erik had managed to scare away another two cleaners-Thierry and Marie. With his thick black hair, dark brown eyes and straight black brows, he could turn heads no matter what he was wearing. Mind you, you'd be hard pressed to find something that _didn't_ flatter that gorgeous figure. He has a beautiful voice but I kept getting the distinct impression that he had a crush on me or Monique, or was harbouring fantasies involving the two of us and a large pool of jelly. The way he looked at us sometimes when we walked in together with our arms linked gave me the creeps.

I peered outside the box. "Monique?" I called again.

"Yes?" she called back.

"Where are you?"

"Box seven."

"What about box six?"

"Bugger box six."

"Sounds painful," I mumbled to myself as I gathered our cleaning materials and made my way along the corridor.

**-8 -**

When our shift had finished, I told Monique that I was going to practise in the old dressing room so that we didn't leave together. I waited five minutes and left, waving to the porter before doubling back around the side of the opera house and going down the stone steps. I know it may seem odd; leaving the opera house only to sneak back into it again but I had to be seen to have left, otherwise they might start a search party or something. Erik hadn't told me to do this, I did it anyway.

When I got back to the house, Erik wasn't there. It didn't bother me too much; he often went off for a bit to haunt the opera house. I went to my room and unpacked my shopping-a few DVDS, another James Patterson novel and some warm clothes. I sat down on my bed and wrote a reply to my parents telling them that I had moved but I wasn't telling them my address because I didn't want them to spring any surprise visits on me, and that Guillaume was perfectly happy to send on any letters. I didn't think it was going to go down very well with my dad, as now he couldn't come and fetch me home like I knew he was itching to do.

Just as I had finished writing the letter, there was a loud crack, a surprised yell and a splash from the main cavern. I went out curiously and found Erik standing in the boat, except the sides of the boat came up to his knees. He was looking down at the boat angrily. Resisting the urge to burst into hysterical laughter, I said, "Are you ok?"

"The boat broke," he said looking up at me, his face a mixture of surprise, anger and confusion.

"Mm-hmm," I said with my lips pressed together tightly to stop myself from laughing. Unfortunately, it didn't help and I burst out laughing at the expression on his face. When I had just about stopped laughing, I slipped off my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans and stepped into the lake to help Erik out of the boat. I steadied the boat with my foot and held out my hand so he could lean on me while he freed his legs. We waded to the side of the lake and Erik pulled off his shoes and socks. Before turning back to the boat and glaring at it as it sunk slowly under the surface of the water. The lake is fairly deep; just deep enough to swim in if the urge took you. Not that it would in the winter.

"Well," I said, trying not to laugh too much, "it is very old."

"I'm very old but I'm not falling apart," he snapped. "And stop laughing! I need that boat."

"I'm not laughing at the boat," I said. "I'm laughing at the expression on your face when the bottom fell out." I dissolved into giggles again as he glowered at me. "Oh, go and get changed," I said, shoving him into the lake again and walking back to my room to find a towel to dry my feet.

As I dried my feet, I started thinking about what he had said. He may have been around for 150 years, but he was a very sprightly 150-year-old. I didn't really understand why he was still around but, to be honest, I wasn't all that bothered. My wish had come true and I didn't want to question it. However, when I went outside and found him in the lounge, still fuming, my mouth decided to take leave of my brain.

"So, how old are you?" I asked, sitting down in the empty chair opposite and curling my legs up under me.

He sighed. "Do you want my age or how many years I've been alive?"

I paused. "Aren't they the same thing?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you."

"Yes. So tell me both."

"Well, I've been alive for 150 years, apart from one day," he added, "but my age is thirty-seven."

I nodded, trying to figure out why there was 113 years difference between the two figures. "Care to explain why?"

"Not particularly."

"Oh." I wriggled around in my chair trying to keep quiet but he read my mind.

"But since you're obviously bursting to know…" he took a deep breath and settled back in the chair with his eyes closed. "March 12th, 1895. I remember it like it was yesterday. Well, I don't really because I was at death's door. I'd been bedridden for two weeks with Mme. Perraux, Guillaume's great-great-grandmother, looking after me. I say 'bedridden', it should really be 'coffin-ridden'. I slept in a coffin back then-Leroux did get something right, that idiotic popinjay. In the evening, I remember having another attack, a big one. It knocked me over the edge. Mme Perraux couldn't do anything to help so I died.

I always thought that dying would involve lots of white light, harps and fluffy clouds. It doesn't, I'm sorry to say-at least, mine didn't. I went…somewhere. I suppose you would call it limbo-it's not heaven, it's not hell but it isn't earth. And technically I wasn't dead either, but nor was I alive. I was greeted by a spirit, the Spirit of The End. She is the person who decides by looking into your heart and soul whether you go to heaven or hell for all eternity. She looked at me and saw…everything," his voice became hoarse and he sounded as though he was holding back tears. "Everything I've ever done. Every wicked thing, every order I've made, every…murder. She looked into my heart and found nothing but hatred and disdain for my fellow man. She found no trace of love or pity. I knew where she would send me," he said, his voice becoming stronger but staying flat and unemotional. "I knew I was going to hell. I _knew_ it. But do you know what she did? She spoke to me. Normally, she doesn't speak, she just points people in the direction where they have to go, but she spoke to me. She said, God I can remember every word, she said, "I have never seen anyone who hasn't loved. I have never seen anyone whose heart is so full of hatred for mankind. I pity you." And then she gave me a choice; either I could die and go to hell, or I could live forever. I told her that I wanted to do neither of those things. So we made a bargain; I could return to earth until I found someone who I could truly fall in love with and who could love me in return. When I find them, I become truly alive again and start to age. At the moment, I can't die. I can't be killed. I would have died a few times during the Great Wars if it wasn't for the bargain. I agreed to it because there was someone else who I wanted to send to heaven, even though I knew I would never find anyone to love me once they'd seen this," he gestured to the mask.

"So that's why I'm here," he concluded. "Why I'm _still_ here. And why I'm going to be here forever."

"You won't be here forever," I whispered hoarsely, brushing away the tears that had run down my cheeks.

"I will," he replied flatly, opening his eyes for the first time since he began speaking and looked straight at me. "No-one will ever fall in love with me when I look like this."

"If looks are important to her," I said quietly, "then she's not worth it."

He sighed and looked down at his hands where they were folded on his lap. I sat watching him until he raised one of his hands and brushed it across his bare cheek.

"Are you ok?" I asked softly.

He nodded fervently.

I stood up and walked over to where he was sitting. I knelt next to his chair and looked up at his face. There were tears running down his face. I knelt up and took his chin in my hand, lifting his head up so he had to look at me. With my other hand I brushed away the tears on his cheek. When they had gone, I took a slow, deep breath and tentatively reached towards the edge of the mask. His hands jerked reflexively in his lap and I put my left hand on top of his gently. I ran my right hand over the top edge of the mask and he closed his eyes. Biting my lip, I slid a fingernail under the mask and pulled it off in one fluid motion.

**-8 -**

And I do believe that is the perfect place to finish. Yes, I know, cliffy. Sorry. I want reviews! No reviews no updates!


	15. A movie and some music

**A/N:** Right, sorry, sorry. I know it's been a long time but I've been away to a place where there is not easily accessible internet. Argh. It did, however, give me time to plan out the story until around about chapter forty. Normally, I hate working to a plan but I think I need to start.

**Nelygirl:** Ooh, another newbie. I'm glad you like :) Here, have some welcoming cookies.

**WanderingChild24:** Empty threats, my dear, empty threats. I like funny. Comic relief is the best thing to lighten an otherwise heavy and somewhat dark chapter.

**Elf of Rohan:** I'm glad you like :) Here's the update!

**Madame Opera Ghost:** Mwah, ha, ha! I like doing cliff-hangers, I really do. :evil smirk: Here's the update.

The italicised bit towards the beginning is the 'silent conversation'. It's the first, and possibly only, time we hear Erik's thoughts.

P.S. I'm using the musical version of the mask so it covers half of his face. I know Leroux says that he wears a full one but I like the half mask idea better. Also, I have a close relationship with my own male friends. We kiss each other on the cheek, hug, curl up and watch movies together, etc, but there is no romantic entanglement. If there was, my fiancé would kill me. This is the type of relationship that Marguerite and Erik have…or is it… :insert evil laugh here:

**In His Darkness…**

I'm glad he had his eyes closed so he couldn't see the look that flickered across my face. I felt my eyes spring open and my mouth open slightly. The right side of his face was red and raw but in places the skin seemed yellow. Towards his hairline, the skin became so thin I could see all the tiny veins underneath it. The brow drooped so that his eye would always look half-closed and he had no eyelashes or eyebrow. The skin stretched tightly over his cheekbone and his nose was sunken.

I took in all of this in just a few seconds. I put the mask down on the table behind me and brushed away the tears on his ravaged right cheek. He started at the feel of my thumb on his cheek but I clicked my tongue at him impatiently and he stayed still. When all the tears had gone, I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek before kneeling back on my heels and looking at him.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. For a moment we stared at each other, communicating in a silence where words would have failed.

(_It's ok, Erik. It doesn't matter.)_

_(I'm hideous. How can she touch me, kiss me? How can she still want to know me?)_

_(It's fine. It's fine. Shh, I'm here. I'll always be here.)_

_(Please don't leave me.)_

Then he slid from his chair and knelt on the floor next to me. He wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face in my shoulder. I put my arms around him and rubbed his back. I could feel his body shaking as the tears came. I hugged him tight, making soothing noises and letting him lean on me until his sobs subsided. Even when he had stopped crying, I kept my arms tightly round his back.

A few minutes later, I gave him one last squeeze and slowly pulled back from him. He let go reluctantly and wiped his face on his sleeve before looking up at me timidly. I smiled and said, "I knew I looked worse when I cried."

He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob.

"Do you want to talk?" I asked softly, not really sure what it was he would want to talk about but feeling it was the proper thing to say.

"Not really."

"Do you want to go and watch a film or something?"

He nodded and pulled himself to his feet. He tried to slip the mask on but I took it from him and carried it out of the room into the main cavern. I stood on the ledge and held it out over the lake.

"What are you doing?" he said worriedly.

"You are not going to wear this thing in the house," I said firmly. "I would drop it but I know you like to wear it when you go outside. I only want to see you wearing this if someone else is around. Deal?"

"Erm…"

"_Deal_?"

"Ok."

"Good." I drew my arm back and handed him the mask. We walked into my room and I turned my computer on as he sat on the bed propped up against the pillows and his legs stretched out. I flicked through my shelf full of DVDs and decided on _School of Rock_. "This isn't too bad," I said clicking open the case and putting the DVD into the computer.

"What's it about?"

"A school band."

He looked at me.

"A total dropout takes his flat mate's job as a teacher," I said, clicking on the play button before walking over to the candles and blowing them out leaving the oil lamps flickering softly. "He makes the class enter a rock contest. They're really good. It's got Jack Black in it."

"Who?"

"You are an uneducated yob. Shut up and watch." I lowered myself onto the bed and sat next to him as the film started. The loud rock music echoed round the cavern as I settled myself comfortably next to Erik.

**-8 -**

In the stark grey-blue light that came from the screen, I glanced over at Erik. He was watching the film intently, as though trying to find flaws in the continuity. By now, the film was about halfway through (Mr S had managed to coax Zack's song out of him) and I was leaning my head on Erik's shoulder. I wriggled around on the bed so my body was slightly turned towards him.

"Comfortable?"

"Yep," I sighed happily.

"Good. Now stop fidgeting."

"Hmph."

By the time the film ended, I was feeling very drowsy. It wasn't very late, only about ten o'clock, but I was yawning and my eyelids were heavy. It was very warm and comfortable sitting on my bed curled up to Erik. As the film had gone on, I had wriggled round even more so that my head had ended up on his chest and his left arm was around my shoulders.

"Not bad," he said, stretching his arms out. "I take it you've seen it before?"

"Mmm-hmm," I mumbled in the affirmative.

"So that's why you fell asleep halfway through."

"Didn't," I mumbled sleepily.

"You did. You snored."

"I don't snore, I breathe heavily!" I said loudly, sitting up and squinting at him in the bright light coming from my computer screen. I pulled my hair out of its now scraggly ponytail and re-tied it in a loop at the nape of my neck. I yawned widely and lay back down in the crook of his arm with my eyes closed.

"You can't stay there! How am I going to get to bed!"

"Sleep here. Can't be bothered to move," I mumbled, already drifting off again.

"I can't stay here. There's no room."

"Is."

"No, there isn't."

"Fine," I said, rolling over so I could sit up and let him get off my bed. When he was standing up, I crawled under the covers and curled up with my eyes shut tight.

"What about your computer?"

"Close lid. Deal with in morning."

"Ok," he chuckled. I felt him pull the green and white duvet up around my shoulders and tuck it around my body. He planted the softest kiss on my cheek, like the flutter of a butterfly's wing on your hand, and whispered, "Sleep well."

"Night," I mumbled.

I heard him cross to the computer and fold it down before his quiet footsteps faded away into the main cavern. He said something else but I couldn't make out what it was so I just grunted sleepily. There was a heavy swish as the velvet drape swung shut across my door and I fell asleep.

**-8 -**

When I woke the next morning, I wondered why I was still in my clothes. Then everything came back to me. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling lost in thought for a few minutes. I sighed and climbed out of bed. I crossed the room and stood in front of the mirror, grimacing at the way my hair resembled a bird's nest. I dressed quickly and tugged all the knots out of my hair before tying it back up into a loop to keep it out of my face. I walked out into the main cavern looking for Erik. He was in the sitting at the organ and turned to face me when he heard my footsteps. He turned back to the organ and began to play again as I walked over and leant down to give him a hug. I felt my arm brush against something cold and distinctly un-skin-like. I moved round so that I was standing on his right and looked down at his face. His masked face. "Erik," I said, with a slight warning in my voice.

"What?" He stopped playing and smiled up at me.

I reached out and tapped the mask before crossing my arms and frowning at him.

"Oh," he said. "I thought you wouldn't remember."

"I was _tired_, Erik," I said exasperatedly, "not _drunk_. Take it off."

He sighed and took the mask off, resting it on the seat next to him.

"Thank you," I said. "If I see you wearing it again, I'll throw it in the lake."

He glowered at me.

I grinned at him, gave him a kiss on his brow and went off to the kitchen to find something to eat. As I cut some bread and poured a glass of orange juice, I heard him walk away from the organ and around the ledge. I sat in the kitchen to eat my breakfast until I heard a familiar tune coming from the music room. I sat bolt upright and sprayed orange juice all over the table. I into the music room and found Erik sitting at the piano with my _Phantom_ score in front of him playing _Music of the Night_ and humming the melody to himself under his breath. "Where did you get that?" I asked.

"From your room," he replied, his fingers moving easily over the keys.

"What!"

"I did ask."

"When?"

"Last night." He finished playing. "That's a great piece."

"Yes, it's your aria," I said impatiently. "Explain!"

He turned to look at me. "I asked you if I could borrow it last night and you said yes. At least, I think that was what that sleepy 'mmph' sound meant."

"Is that what you said?"

"Yes."

I sighed. "Oh, fine."

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding confused. "You can have it back if y…"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "No, don't mind me. I'm just jealous. I can't get my fingers round those key changes."

He smiled at me and turned back to the piano. He flicked back to the front of the book and played the introduction to _Think of Me_. He stopped in the middle of a bar and turned to look at me. "Do you sing?"

"No, I warble. In tune, if you're lucky."

"Can you sing along to this?"

"No. It goes too high." I turned to the end of the piece and pointed out the high B flat at the end of the cadenza.

"That's a shame. I would have liked to hear it sung."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Is that a hint to watch the film?"

"No, it's a hint for you to sing."

"Well, it's not going to happen. _Ever_."

He turned the pages of the book to _The Phantom of the Opera_. "This is quite low."

"Go to the end of the piece," I said flatly.

He turned over the four pages and his jaw dropped at the sight of the high E. "Point taken."

"You need a coloratura soprano to sing the part of Christine," I said. "When I sing, which is only when I've been threatened with something sharp and pointy, I'm an alto."

"Huh." He flicked through the book again, scanning the songs for parts that didn't go too high. "What about…"

"Stop looking for stuff for me to sing!" I interrupted. "I don't sing. _Ever_. Point blank, full stop, period."

"So that's a no, then?" he asked, turning to look at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I glared at him until he turned away. He flicked back to _The Phantom of the Opera_ and began to play, his face screwed up in concentration for the first few bars. "It sounds better on the organ," I said as the melody began to appear.

"Does it?" he stopped playing and carried the book out of the room and over to the organ. The instant his fingers pressed the keys, the hair on the back of my neck stood up and I got goosebumps all over my arms.

When the final A minor chord sounded, I sat down next to him. "Blimey," I whispered. "I've never heard it played like that before."

"Is that a compliment?" he asked, turning to face me with a smile.

"Definitely," I laughed. I picked up the music and was about to take it back to my room when a thought struck me. "Why didn't you tell me you still had box five?"

"I didn't think you'd be that interested. I mean, you work there, so I thought you'd be tired of the place."

"I've never been to the opera," I said thoughtfully.

"You know that qualifies as blasphemy in this house, right?"

"Sorry. I beg your forgiveness, oh Mighty Erik." I did a small mock bow and smiled at him mischievously.

"Watch it, or you won't get your Christmas present."

"It's November!"

"It's never too early to think about Christmas."

I sighed. "I need to think about sending stuff back to England, and what to get Monique."

He coughed quietly and looked at me expectantly.

"Oh, I'm not going to forget about you. Although I haven't a clue what to get you," I said, chewing on my lower lip thoughtfully.

"Don't do that; you won't be able to play," he scolded lightly.

"Hmmm," I replied, not really listening to him and still chewing on my lip. I shook myself out of the present buying reverie and said, "I suppose I should do some practise since I missed out yesterday."

"Later. You still look tired. If you're tired, you'll make more mistakes and get frustrated easily. You need to be relaxed when you practise otherwise your posture and your mouth will suffer."

"I know," I said, thinking back to the few weeks before my grade eight exam and I was practising for at least four hours a day. I'd gotten so stressed and so tense that I could barely move after the exam. My shoulders ached for a month solid after that and I still have a dip on my lower left index finger where I was holding my flute too tightly.

"Experienced it, have we?"

"Yep." I told him all about the exam. "It killed. I can't practise that intensely anymore." I shook my head. "Madness."

"Well, I'll see what I can do about your Christmas present. Oh, that reminds me; when is your birthday?"

"Not until April. Why?"

He shrugged. "Birthday present."

"When's yours?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "November."

I froze. "When in November?"

"The twenty-eighth."

I glanced at the date number on my watch. It was the twenty-first. "That's next week!"

"So?"

"So! So what am I going to get you?"

"I've had over a hundred birthdays without any celebration. One more isn't going to matter," he said somewhat sadly.

"Nonsense," I replied. "You've got me now and, as your friend, it's my duty to make your birthday special."

"How? By inviting all my closest friends and throwing me a big party?" he said sarcastically.

"Now there's a thought…"

"What?"

"I was joking. Give me some time to think and I'll let you know." I went to my room, shoved the music books back into the bookshelf and flopped down onto my bed to plan Erik's birthday.

**-8 -**


	16. A birthday party

**A/N:**Right, this chapter has been re-written almost completely since after reading all your reviews I decided that it needed it. Sorry it's taken so long!

If anyone's having trouble with the French translations, let me know in a review and I'll go back and put translations in. You should be able to guess most of it, but some stuff I had to put into an online translator and they're not very accurate. I tried it with my French homework a few years ago and…well, it was very obvious!

**NeoQueenSolaris-Cosmos:** Yay! Another newbie :hands over welcoming cookies: Here's the update :)

**Kaledena:** Glad you're enjoying it. Here's the update!

**Madame Opera Ghost:** Yay! Glad you're enjoying the fic. Here's the awaited update!

**Ellardis Merithdire:** :hands over welcoming cookies: Actually, I've now written up to chapter twenty-seven (ish) and have up to chapter forty planned out :) I just like making people wait.

**Elf of Rohan:** Well, now you get to find out :)

**Wandering Child24:** Blimey, you must be my most dedicated reviewer! Not that that's a bad thing ;) Glad you're still enjoying the fic. Here's the update!

* * *

**In His Darkness…**

"So, what you doing tonight, Marguerite?"

I groaned quietly. Pierre was starting to annoy me. I fixed a smile on my face and turned to look at him. "I'm going to a friend's party," I said.

"Do you like to come out with me instead?"

"I can't, Pierre," I said, forcing my face into a disappointed expression. "I promised him I'd be there. Oh, and it's 'would you like'."

"Oh, ok. Aprés Noël, peut-etre?"

"Oui, peut-etre."

He smiled and walked back to his work at the other side of the auditorium. I turned to face Monique with a grimace.

"Why do you say no! He is so handsome!" she squealed under her breath.

I shrugged. "He's not my type."

"Tall, dark and handsome is not your type!" she squealed, her voice raising about three octaves.

I laughed. "Ok, one, he's the same height as me so he's not tall, and two, I'm not looking for a man at the moment."

"Then who is the man you are going to see tonight?"

"Oh, you know perfectly well I made that up to get rid of Pierre," I lied.

"I don't believe you."

I sighed and glared at her. "If you keep this up, I'm going to start speaking proper English."

She looked at me curiously.

I sighed and put on my best Cockney accent, which, by the way, is not very good. "Ah mate, 'ad a right mare I did, got chucked out me pad and now fings wiv the trouble and strife have gone all pete tong!" (**A/N:** Which, roughly translated, means 'Oh, mate, I've had such a nightmare of a day. I was thrown out of my house and now things with the wife have gone all wrong!")

She looked at me as if I'd gone mad. "And you say _I_ am a crazy Frenchwoman."

"I'm not French. And I said you were insane."

"Then you are an insane _English_woman."

"Fair enough."

**-8 -**

After the hours practise I do after work, I went to Guillaume's. I'd managed to let him know that I was planning something for Erik's birthday but he seemed very sceptical. When I got there, I knocked on the door and Madeleine opened it. She stood back to let me in and I went to the kitchen. As I set out lots of ingredients on the table, she eyed me suspiciously.

"What are you making?" she asked.

"Chocolate brownies," I replied, pulling a bag of walnuts out of the bag. "Erik's not allergic to nuts, is he?"

She shrugged.

"Hmm, I'd better leave them out then." As I began to measure out the sugar and cocoa powder, Madeleine came round the table and leant against the counter behind me.

"Are you making these for him?"

"Yep," I nodded, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl. "I'm going to make two batches though so you and Guillaume can have some."

She looked surprised and a little apprehensive.

"I'm not going to poison them," I said irritably, catching her expression. "My brownies are famous amongst stressed out students." I stirred the mixture slowly at first, folding in the dry ingredients so they didn't fly everywhere; something I had learnt a long time ago. As the mixture blended more, it gave off a mouth-watering smell of chocolate. I dipped a finger into the batter and scooped up a blob. I put it in my mouth and groaned in pleasure.

"Try some," I said to Madeleine, gesturing at the bowl.

She went over to a drawer and pointedly pulled out a teaspoon. She spooned a bit of the batter into her mouth and her eyes glazed over. "That is amazing. I must have the recipe!"

"OK," I laughed. "Just let me put the pans in the oven and I'll write it out for you."

As the brownies baked, we sat in the kitchen scooping the last blobs of batter out of the bowl with our fingers and chatting amiably. "So, what are you getting Erik for his birthday?" I asked, as the conversation began to run dry.

"Nothing. Why?" she replied through a fingerful of chocolate.

"Why! He's your boss! No, he's more than that; he's your friend. You should do something to mark the occasion!"

She looked thoughtful. "I never thought of it like that."

"Well, it's about time you started," I frowned. "I'm sorry, Madeleine, I shouldn't be lecturing you, but he's had a tough life and he needs all the friends he can get."

"I understand. Perhaps we will come to your home this evening and we will have a small party, oui?"

I smiled. "That would be wonderful."

**-8 -**

Twenty-five minutes later, I was carrying a boxful of still warm brownies through Paris after making Madeleine promise that she would leave at least one for Guillaume to try. When I got back to the house, Erik was out playing at the restaurant he had been neglecting. Guillaume had let himself in via the lake and was looking very unhappy when I turned up.

"I did not know that the boat was that badly broken," he said gesturing at the prow just poking through the surface of the water.

"Sorry," I said meekly. "I should have told you."

"I nearly had to swim."

"What do you mean, 'nearly'?"

"There is just enough room to walk on the bank if you do not mind your feet getting wet."

I looked down and saw that his legs were wet to halfway up his shins. "Go and dry off," I said, smiling sympathetically, "then we can start on this boat."

As Guillaume walked off to the bathroom, I took of my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans. I stepped into the lake and went over to where the boat had sunk. I pulled it up through the water towards and dragged it towards the bank. When I got it there, I could see the damage more clearly; the wood was so old it had rotted and the hull had broken where Erik had been standing.

"How did you want to fix it?" said Guillaume, making me jump.

"I have no idea," I said. "I think a whole new boat would be easiest although I can't afford it. Not that I have a clue how much something like this would cost."

"Well," he said, walking towards the boat, "for now, it just needs to be patched up."

"What about waterproofing the joins?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It was never that waterproof anyway."

"Ok," I laughed, "let's go for it."

We pulled the boat further up the bank and turned it over. The broken hull was still hanging on, but a few tugs pulled it loose. Many nails, several hit fingers and countless splinters later, the hull was patched up. It didn't look very elegant, but it was better than nothing. Guillaume and I even broadened our knowledge of our respective second languages with a few well-chose and, in my case, descriptive expletives.

"Thank you so much, Guillaume," I said gratefully as I helped him pack away the tools.

"De rien," he replied airily. "I must go; Madeleine will wonder where I am."

"No, don't. She should be along in…" I broke off as I heard slight splashing sound and some mumbled curses in French. "She's here."

"You asked her to come?"

"Yes. She's bringing some food and we're going to throw our dear friend-" at this, I fixed him with a glare "-a nice little party."

"I'm not sure if Monsieur Erik will like that."

"Monsieur Erik doesn't have any choice," I said firmly, helping Madeleine out of the water and taking some of the food from her.

We set out the food in the kitchen and I went up to one of the storerooms near the chapel to find two more chairs. When I came back down, I found that Guillaume had pushed the boat down to the waters edge and Madeleine had covered it with one of the green wall drapes from my room. Hearing footsteps in the passage, I hissed at them to get into the kitchen and they had just enough time to pull the drape across the entrance before the passage door swung open and Erik stepped out onto the ledge. "Happy birthday!" I called, running over and kissing him soundly on the cheek.

"Thank you," he laughed, returning the hug.

"Have a good evening?"

"Some people have no taste in music," he grumbled. "Honestly, you think they'd know Handel when they hear it."

"Did someone complain?"

"Yes, the manager. I told him if he didn't shut up, I'd play that piece where you have to set the piano on fire before you play it."

I laughed and took his hand. "Come into the kitchen. I have a surprise for you."

He gave me a suspicious look but allowed me to lead him into the kitchen and stood there as I flung the drape back.

"Surprise!" shouted three voices in unison.

I could see the shock on his face but it gave way to a smile as he took in the food laid out on the table, the pile of brownies on the middle, and a small vase of flowers at one end.

We sat down at the table and he blew out the candle Madeleine had put on the topmost brownie while the three of us half sang, half shouted 'Happy Birthday'. "Did you make a wish?" I asked, while he wiped the bemused grin from his face.

"What would I wish for?"

"Whatever you want. That's why it's called a wish."

"Ok. I wish for…"

"No! You can't tell me or it won't come true."

He screwed up his face as though he was thinking and then relaxed. "Done."

"Good. Now try one and tell me what you think. I had to guess the time-Madeleine's oven is so different to what I'm used to."

"The other batch was delicious," put in Madeleine.

"You haven't eaten them all!"

Her silence and a slight embarrassed blush meant that she didn't have to answer.

We ate the delicious salads and sandwiches that Madeleine had made before starting on the pile of brownies. As we ate, the four of us chatted amicably in French, giving me a chance to practise and the others a chance to laugh at my accent. An hour and a half later, Madeleine and Guillaume made their excuses and left. Erik said goodbye to them as equals, rather than ordering them around as he was so obviously used to.

"Now for your present," I said, a slightly manic grin on my face.

"Present?" He looked terrified.

"Yep!" I stood up and held out my hand. "Come with me."

He took my hand and I reached up and took the mask off; sighing impatiently as I pointedly dropped it onto the table. He smiled meekly as I led him out of the room towards the edge of the lake. "Ready?"

"Go on."

I pulled the drape up and uncovered the boat.

"You fixed it!" he exclaimed happily.

"With Guillaume's help. It doesn't look very good though. I'll get you a new one when I can afford it."

"Don't be silly," he said, giving me a hug and a quick kiss before climbing into the boat to inspect mine and Guillaume's work. "This is great."

"Really?"

"Yes!" He looked up at me with a grin on his face.

"As long as you're happy," I smiled. I left him running his hands over the wood of the boat happily and went to my room. I turned on my computer and went into Media player. "Fancy listening to some music?" I called loudly.

"There's no need to shout," he said from directly behind me.

"Wah!" I jumped about a foot in the air and turned round accusingly. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Sorry," he grinned, looking thoroughly amused. "What have you got?"

I turned back to the computer and scrolled through my list of music. "Aerosmith, Coldplay, The Beatles, Keane, the Chili Peppers," I listed. "Ooh, Robbie Williams. My favourite." I dragged the fifteen tracks from _Swing When You're Winning_ onto the playlist and clicked play.

_I wouldn't be so alone_

_If they knew my name_

_In every home._

"He's good."

I nodded. "The most beautiful tenor in pop. His voice isn't bad either."

"What's your favourite?"

"Oh, God, all of them! If I had to choose though, I'd say _The Buzzard and the Monkey_, _Well, Did You Evah_ and _One For My Baby_." I clicked on _Buzzard_ and let him judge for himself.

_A buzzard took a monkey for a ride in the air,_

_The monkey thought that everything was on the square._

I sang along loudly and badly, throwing in a dodgy American accent for good measure. Erik laughed at my antics, and laughed even more at _Well, Did You Evah_. If you don't know the song, it's basically two blokes at a party, getting steadily drunker and bitching about everyone.

"Dance with me," I said when _One For My Baby_ came on. I took his hand and led him to the middle of the room. I put his hands on my waist and put my own around his neck. I closed my eyes and leant my head against his chest as we began to sway with the music. I felt him relax as the music went on and he rested his cheek on the top of my head. We danced slowly in small circles in the middle of the room until the end of the song when I pulled away from him unwillingly.

"Good birthday?" I asked looking up into his face. There were tears in his eyes. "Hey, what's the matter?" I asked, concerned.

"There's a reason," he said in a choked voice, "why I don't celebrate my birthday. It's something you wouldn't have known about; no-one's mentioned it anywhere."

"Mentioned what?" I asked, confused.

"I have…_had_, a twin sister."

**-8 -**

**A/N:** Aha! And we have some semblance of a plot forming in the midst of this fic. Hurrah! Reviews, please :puppy-dog eyes: By the way, there is a piece where you have to pour petrol on a piano, set fire to it and then play it but I can't find the name of it anywhere.


	17. Playing with Erik

**A/N:** To all of you; I'm so sorry I've taken so long to update. I've been having a few problems in my personal life and writing just seemed to take a back seat for a while. Don't worry, everything's sorted out now and updates should be getting more regular. Also, I've updated chapter one to make it slightly more interesting if you want to go back and read it. **Edit:** I found out that I'd been given a posting ban. I only found out on the last day though. Oops.

**Lady Fae:** Sorry for the long wait! Here's the chapter.

**NeoQueenSolaris-Cosmos:** I know. I like being evil.

**Madame Opera Ghost:** I can honestly say that this is not based on _Star Wars_. I don't like _Star Wars_ :ducks the flying tomatoes: Sorry!

**Elf of Rohan:** I like doing cliffies. This is where the plot starts getting interesting.

**Wandering Child24:** You find out Erik's wish later. About chapter 29-ish.

**Kaledena:** Not many people did!

**In His Darkness…**

I gaped at him. "A twin sister?"

"Yes."

"But…what?" I was completely confused. "A sister? A twin sister? I…what!"

He gave a watery smile and wiped at his eyes. "Come with me."

We went to his room and he crossed to his wardrobe. From the space at the top, he pulled out a rosewood box, about the size of a shoe box. It was decorated on the top with a crest bearing a lion, a boar and three stars on a shield. He sat on his bed and opened it. I sat next to him and took the picture he was holding out to me. It was a coloured sketch of a pretty young girl in her late teens. She had long black hair and the same golden eyes as Erik. She had the same nose and mouth that Erik would have had if it wasn't for the deformity and her eyes glinted in the same way as his.

"She's beautiful," I whispered, looking at the laughing girl. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know," he said sadly. "She was kidnapped from the gypsy camp five years after our parents were killed."

I gasped and squeezed his hand. "What happened?"

"My father was killed because he was protecting my mother. She was killed for giving birth to a devil. Me. They came after my sister, but even at twelve I was strong. I killed the leader with a rope that was nearby and the rest of the mob was too scared to come near me after that. We ran away from the village and lived with the gypsies. One day, I was 'performing'-" his voice became bitter "-and some people took her away. I don't know who or where. All I know is she won't be alive now."

"What was her name?"

There was a pause before he whispered, "Natalie."

"That's a pretty name." I studied the picture in more detail and noticed that she was holding a rose tied with a black ribbon. "Did you draw this?"

He nodded. "We were seventeen then. The rose was her favourite flower. I use it as my symbol in memory of her."

"Seventeen?" The age stirred something in my memory. "The last time you sang," I said, remembering. "Oh, Erik." I put the picture back in the box and wrapped my arms round him. I sat hugging him for ages, and all the while, his eyes never left those of the girl in the picture. Sensing that he wanted to be alone, I got up and went to my room. I tapped the space bar, cutting off Robbie in the middle of _Me and My Shadow_ and looked through thehuge list of musicto find something more appropriate. I dragged Elgar's Cello Concerto, Faure's _Elegie_ and Barber's _Adagio for Strings_ onto the playlist and pressed play. I sat back onto my bed, half listening to the music and half listening out for any signs that Erik would want me there to talk to. I glanced up towards the end of the beautiful _Adagio for Strings_ and saw Erik standing in the doorway, watching me with a small smile. I got up pulled him into a tight hug.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"What for?" I asked, slightly muffled since my head was in his shoulder.

"For the music," he replied. "Music always makes me feel better."

"Me too." I gave him a last quick hug and a kiss and said, "It's late, you should get some sleep."

"I don't feel like sleeping."

"What do you feel like doing?" I asked warily.

"Playing."

"I hope you mean music."

"Yes." He crossed over to my bookshelf and pulled out a handful of music. "This, this, this…and this," he mumbled, selecting a few of my flute concertos.

"Er, I didn't think you meant together," I said nervously.

"Of course," he answered. "Come on."

With trepidation, I picked up my flute and music stand and followed him to the music room.

"Which one first?" he asked, already seated at the piano.

"Something easy."

"Vivaldi, _Il Cardellino_. Here." He threw the flute part at me and I just caught it without dropping my flute.

"It's grade seven!" I exclaimed. "But it's incredibly simple so full steam ahead, I say," I said quickly to his look.

He began to play the piano part before my flute had touched my lips. He stopped and turned round. "You missed your entry."

"Yes, it's hard to play when the flute hasn't reached your mouth yet," I replied sarcastically.

He sighed. "Ready now?"

I put the flute to my lips and nodded. He turned back to the piano and began to play. This time, I didn't miss my entry but I did miss a few finger patterns towards the end of the movement. The second movement was very slow and easy to play but the third was a nightmare. My fingers were all over the place.

"That wasn't very good."

I glared at him. "I haven't played that concerto since I was fifteen. That's five years, Erik, _five years_."

"Well, for five years without practising, it was quite good. Want to play some more?"

"Ok, but something _easy_ this time."

"You choose."

I walked over to the piano and rifled through a thick book filled with pieces by lots of different composers. "This one," I said, pulling out a Mozart concerto.

"The whole concerto?"

I shook my head "Just the second movement."

"The slow one."

"That's the one." I walked back over to the music stand and flicked the flute part open to the right page. Erik began to play and a few beats later I joined him. The music bounced off the walls of the cavern making the low notes of the flute full and rich, and the high ones ring out brightly. He turned and watched me as I played the cadenza. I could feel his eyes following the finger patterns and watching the subtle movements of my lips as I switched between registers. As I cam to a long trill, he joined in and we played the last phrase together.

"That was good," Erik said, as the final chord faded away, "but you need to support more at the top; it was going a bit flat."

"No it wasn't."

"Excuse me, who's the musical genius here?"

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Want to play some more?" he asked, turning to the last movement.

"Ok," I said nervously, "but I haven't played that movement for a while."

"Just do your best."

We played the final movement with gusto. I got a lot of the finger movements completely wrong and by the end, my lips were about to give out. I was glad when we got to the end and I could listen to the thirteen bars of solo piano at the end.

"So, how long is 'a while', anyway?" he asked, flipping the book shut.

"Um, ever?" I answered, hoping that he would not want to play anymore.

"Hmmm." He reached for a difficult Danzi concerto which I had only played once.

I gave a huge (fake) yawn. "Oh, Erik, it's past midnight and I'm shattered."

His hand stopped in mid-reach. "Ok. I expect to hear you practising that Mozart concerto. The man was a genius and you don't do him justice."

"I don't do any music justice," I said wryly.

"Nonsense."

"It's true! Music is the only thing I've ever been good at, and sometimes I wonder whether I'm actually any good at it at all."

"Of course you are." He stood up and handed me the music. "You should have more confidence in yourself, Marguerite. You are a wonderful musician."

I smiled in thanks and gave him a kiss on his right cheek. "Happy Birthday again, Erik. I hope you had a good evening."

"I did. It was nice to talk about her to someone," he said in a voice tinged with sadness. "I miss her still. It was like having a piece of your soul ripped out."

I pulled him into a hug, nearly knocking him over the head with my flute. "I can't begin to imagine how that feels. You poor thing."

"Don't feel sorry for me," he said, pulling out of the hug and fixing me with his golden eyes. "Just understand how and why their deaths made me who I am."

"Who you _were_, Erik," I corrected firmly, looking him straight in the eye.

He shook his head sadly. "Who I am. My past is part of me. I don't regret what I've done…some of what I've done."

"'I have never seen anyone whose heart is so full of hatred for mankind'," I quoted. "That was what she said, wasn't it?" By 'she', I meant the Spirit.

"Word for word."

"Your sister was the person who was sent to heaven as part of that bargain, wasn't she."

"Yes. My parents were good Catholics; I had no worries about them going to heaven. Natalie and I abandoned God when they were killed so I wanted to know that she would go to heaven."

"You are such a wonderful person, Erik," I said. "So full of love and compassion, yet with no-one to share that with."

"I've got you."

I smiled. "Yes. Yes, you have. But you don't right now because I'm off to bed."

He laughed and kissed me goodnight. "Sleep well."

"You too. 'Night, Erik." I went to my room and cleaned my flute out carefully before getting changed and climbing into bed.

I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillows and my dreams were filled with a man playing the violin to a young raven-haired girl of seventeen.

**-8 -**


	18. An opera and a new aquaintance

**A/N:** From now on, I'm going to try and update every Friday. I've just got hold of my timetable for this semester and it's pretty light so writing will take priority over little things such as sleep and food.

**HisInspiration:** :hands over the traditional welcoming cookies: Awww, thank you! Here's the update you wanted. P.S. Loving the Janice-from-_Friends_ moment ;)

**NeoQueenSolaris-Cosmos:** :blushes: I got a squee :is stunned: Hurray! Glad you liked the last chapter. Here's your update!

**WanderingChild24:** When I originally put up the fic, there was an A/N chap at the beginning but it got removed (and I got a slapped wrist from the mods). Unfortunately, she is dead but, as Erik said in Susan Kay's _Phantom_, "From time to time certain bone structures are repeated without a blood tie. No human face is entirely unique, my dear." (I had to read the whole chapter to find that quote…)

* * *

**In His Darkness…**

At work the next day, Monique accosted me in the auditorium where we were supposed to be polishing the statues that adorned the columns between the boxes. I had just begun polishing the face of a naked female statue when she pounced. "So are you going to tell me about it or aren't you?"

"About what?" I sighed.

"The party!" Monique squealed loudly.

"It was good," I replied, before remembering that I had told her that the party was an excuse to get rid of Pierre.

"Aha! I knew you had a man! Why else would you turn down Pierre!"

I sighed irritably. "If you like him so much, you ask him out."

"Because he likes you and I would not stand in your way."

"You're not standing in my way. Go ahead. Be my guest. _Please_."

"He would not look twice at me. He likes foreign girls."

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Then he can go ask out that Spanish singer who was strutting about on the stage yesterday, squawking. What's her name? Carla?"

"She wasn't squawking, she was singing-"

"Sounded like squawking to me," I muttered.

"-and he already has. She turned him down because she is already with someone. Just like you. _Who is he_!"

"I haven't got a man! If you keep annoying me, you can go and do the naked cherubs on box five on your own," I said, gesturing up to the grand tier.

Monique paled. "Ok, I will be quiet. And anyway, I will meet your man at the ball."

"Excuse me?" I stopped polishing and leant on the statue.

"The _bal masque_. It is a New Year tradition at the opera house. And _everyone_ must bring a partner." She glanced down at where I was leaning on the statue. "Maybe you have a woman and not a man, oui?"

"What?" I looked down and saw that I had been leaning on the naked statue's left breast. I snatched my hand away and scooped more polish onto the cloth. "What were you saying about New Year?"

"It is a tradition for everyone to bring a partner to the _bal masque_. All of the opera house employees are invited, from the cleaners to the managers."

"A masked ball? That sounds like fun."

"It is. For two hours there is traditional dancing, usually from about eight o'clock in the evening, and then the rest of the night has modern music. The unmasking is at midnight."

"Er, when you say 'traditional dancing'…?"

"Oh, you know," she said airily waving a duster, "waltzes, foxtrots; the usual."

"That's easy for you to say; you're a dancer! I don't dance."

"So get lessons."

I glowered at her and began to polish the statue's huge, annoyingly perky bosom.

**-8 -**

When I got back to the house that evening, I was still in a rubbish mood. When Monique told me about the ball, I had been really excited but the second she started talking about waltzes my excitement evaporated. I have never been much of a dancer. Sure, I've done a few cheesy dance routines in the past, and clubs are no problem (usually because I'm so plastered I don't care what I'm doing), but I've never had the slightest urge to do ballroom dancing.

I stomped into the home and looked around for Erik. He wasn't there; he'd gone to play at the restaurant again. Every time he came back from there, he seemed relaxed and happy, as though a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. I went into the music room and found the score for the opera he had finished at the beginning of the month. I noticed that he had written the title in his elegant hand across the top of the heavy manuscript. It was called _The Devil's Child_. I turned to the back and read the libretto more closely. Set in a gypsy camp, it had three leading characters; Philippe, the leader of the camp, Jules, the Devil's Child and his sister, who manages to steal him away from the camp and take him home to his loving family. Her name was Natalie. I skimmed through the libretto picking up the gist of the opera before sliding it back into the leather bound case. The separate parts were in there and, out of interest, I pulled out the flute/piccolo part. At first glance, the overture didn't look too hard but then I saw that he had marked the tempo as _presto_. Even if you don't know Italian, I'm sure that you know that it means 'very fast'. I pulled a face as I imagined playing the semiquaver flourishes on the piccolo at that speed. Sighing tiredly, I put the parts back into the case and resolved to pester Erik into having the opera shown sometime the following year.

Suddenly, I knew what Erik's Christmas present would be. For my eighteenth birthday, my parents had bought me a copy of Sibelius, a score writing computer program. Since then, I had religiously upgraded to the next version every time I could and was currently on Sibelius 3. If Erik's opera was going to be shown, the parts would have to be written out professionally anyway so why shouldn't I do it? I looked at the score again. Everything was written in; all the dynamics, tempi and accents, so all I would have to do is copy it out. It would also mean that Erik would be able to hear it out loud and make any subtle corrections. I resolved to start work on the opera as soon as possible.

However, the late nights were catching up with me. Even though I had slept in that morning, not gaining consciousness until ten-thirty, I was already exhausted. I went into my room and crashed out on the bed, longing to fall asleep. However, I knew that if I did I would wake up at a stupid hour the next morning. To stop myself drifting off, I turned on my computer and loaded up the _Phantom_ soundtrack. I'd managed to get a copy of the ultimate edition, as I like to call it. It's a double CD that includes every scrap of music heard in the film. I put my earphones in, not wanting Erik to come back and hear the music; I still wasn't sure if he was up to watching the movie. As the Prologue began, I sighed happily and sank back onto the bed, curled up around a pillow. The Overture managed to wake me up even more, as well as sending shivers down my spine and then Carlotta's 'singing' managed to jerk me out of my trance. I'd almost fully woken up when _Music of the Night_ began. This song possesses the power to lull me to sleep in about four point eight seconds. Whether it's the music itself, or Gerry's soothing voice I haven't yet managed to figure out.

The next thing I know, my headphones had been removed and it was half-past eleven. I yawned and stretched groggily, not really wanting to wake up, and went to the kitchen to get a drink. Stumbling sleepily past Erik's room, I heard the rustle of pages being turned as he read. I fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and drank quickly, unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Yawning expansively with my eyes closed, I turned around took two steps forward before promptly bumping into something tall and Erik-like. Opening my eyes blearily, I found out that it was indeed Erik. "Sorry," I mumbled sleepily.

"That's alright," he replied. "Go back to bed; you're exhausted."

"Not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Not."

"Are."

"I knew you'd agree with me eventually," he replied with a smirk.

It took me a few moments to realise what had happened. "Unfair!"

"Go back to bed or I'll throw you in the lake."

"Git." I yawned again and went back to my room.

**-8 -**

I don't know about you, but I am one of those people who, once they are awake, they are awake. It takes me forever to fall asleep again, even if I manage to drift off at all. At twelve forty-five, I realised that this was one of those times where I would not be getting back to sleep again for a long time. I lit the candle next to my bed, picked up my book and began to read. Five pages later, I looked up to see Erik standing in the doorway looking at me with a frown on his face.

"What?" I asked, putting my book down.

"Why are you still awake?"

"Because I couldn't sleep."

"I guessed that much," he said stepping into the room. "Why can't you sleep?"

I shrugged and wriggled under the covers so he wouldn't see too much of my pink Piglet pyjamas.

"Want me to play you something?"

"Yes, please."

He went out of the room. I thought he had gone to the piano to play so I curled up under the covers and closed my eyes waiting for the first chords. Instead, I heard the sound of a violin tuning up. I opened my eyes and frowned. Now, I have absolutely nothing against string instruments, provided that said string instrument is a viola, a cello or a harp. Double basses annoy me and I have heard too many primary school string orchestras to be able to love the violin. However, when Erik came into my room and sat on the foot of my bed with his violin under his chin, I curled up and listened. He produced the most beautiful sound I have ever heard from a violin. He didn't use too much vibrato, which I enjoyed. I have heard violinists that use so much vibrato, you can never tell if they are in tune or not. Occasionally he played two, sometimes three notes at once, creating harmony under the slow lilting melody. I watched him move with the music with his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face. I watched him until my eyelids became heavy and I drifted off to sleep, lulled by his music.

**-8 -**

I woke at eleven the next morning feeling completely refreshed. There was a note at the side of my bed from Erik.

_M,_

_Gone to terrorise managers and frighten dancers. Must get that Carla woman fired!_

_Back later,_

_O.G._

_P.S. You do snore!_

I sighed and shook my head. He was doing very well in keeping up the legend of the Opera Ghost, although sometimes I wished I could go with him to see what he got up to on his 'hauntings'. Dragging my body out of the warm confines of my bed, I dressed in warm clothes and went to the kitchen. Munching on a sandwich (I decided to give up on breakfast and go straight to an early lunch), I went back to my room and read for a bit until I heard Erik come back from his hauntings. "I don't snore!" I yelled, barely glancing up from my book.

"Glad to hear it," replied a heavily accented voice.

I froze. That was not Erik. The voice was older and definitely not French. It sounded Asian, but tinged with a slight accent that suggested the owner had lived in France for a long time. Picking up one of the heavy empty candlesticks on the dresser, I peered warily out of my room. "Who are you?"

"A friend."

As far as I could see, the cavern was empty. "Friends don't hide from each other."

"They also don't wield hefty candlesticks at each other."

"What the f-" I stepped fully out of the room, not loosening my grip on the candlestick. "Where are you?" I called angrily.

"Come and find me."

I was getting scared now and my voice wavered slightly as I said, "Erik, if this is one of your little haunting tricks, it's not funny."

"If what's one of my haunting tricks?" said a voice from the lake. I jumped, turned round and saw Erik punting the boat towards the shore.

I rushed towards him and hissed, "There's someone here."

He chuckled. "Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly. I'm serious!" I said, a little hysterically.

Obviously my tone alarmed him as he frowned and stepped out of the boat, wrapping an arm round me protectively. "I'm sure you just heard a rat or something."

"Rats?" I said in a whisper, pulling back from his arm. "Rats don't talk."

"They spoke to you?" he said sharply.

"Yes! They sounded old and definitely not French."

"Wait here." He walked up the bank and, staying next to the wall, slid towards the lounge. When he got to the entrance he relaxed and called over his shoulder, "I was right, you did hear a rat."

"Is that any way to talk about an old friend?" I heard as I walked towards the lounge nervously.

"No, but it's a good way to talk about you," I heard Erik reply acidly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You have missed three of our meetings in a row now, Erik."

"Your point being?"

I stepped into the lounge and saw Erik glaring at a man who was sitting, looking perfectly at ease, in one of the chairs. He stood as I entered the room and I could see that he was only a few inches taller than me but he held himself straight so that he looked taller than he was. He had dark skin and dark brown eyes and black hair streaked with grey. "Pleased to meet you, miss."

"You should not have met her in the first place," spat Erik before I could open my mouth.

"Hey!" I said, glaring up at Erik. "Don't I get a say in this!"

"No."

I rolled my eyes and pushed in front of Erik. "I'm Marguerite. It's good to meet you, monsieur."

"Nadir Khan." He shook my hand and his eyes flicked over my shoulder to Erik as he said, "It is not every day that one meets another friend of the opera ghost."

I smiled, unsure of how to answer.

"I repeat, you should not have met her at all," growled Erik. He moved forward and put a hand on my shoulder. "Now, what are you doing here? Answer me!"

I was about to berate Erik for his tone but when I felt the waves of strength, power and anger radiating from him I decided to let him get on with it.

"I have already answered you and I don't appreciate your tone," replied Nadir sharply.

Erik squeezed my shoulder convulsively and I put my hand on his to try and calm him down. It didn't work.

"Marguerite, go out," he said in an angrily quiet voice, still not moving his eyes from Nadir.

"Huh?"

"I need to have a word with M. Khan."

"I'd like to stay."

He span me round so quickly that I stumbled but his tight grip on my shoulder prevented me from falling. He glared down at me and said in a low angry voice, "Go out. See Monique. Meet up with Pierre. I don't care. Out."

"This is my home too," I replied crossly.

Erik's golden brown eyes flashed yellow. "You can come back later. One hour."

I opened my mouth to argue some more but Erik bellowed, "OUT!" so loudly I ran out of the room.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** :manic grin: Funfun. Reviews, please!


	19. Coffee, Nadir and an argument

**A/N: **This chapter took me about four hours to write and is 3500 words. Why it took me four hours to write this chapter and nearly twenty-four to write an essay of the same length I have no idea. Procrastination is a wonderful thing… Another thing, the magazine stories are real, and are from real British magazines. '_Salut_' can mean both 'Hi' and 'See you later'. Silly double meanings… And I'm sure you can guess what '_merde'_ means. _C'est un quartier plus cher_ means 'It's a very expensive area'. Also, I'm sorry if I messed up the French verb conjugations. I never managed to get the hang of them in six years of lessons.

A final note, Erik and Marguerite now converse entirely in French, unless otherwise stated. This is why Erik's 'English' now seems so informal.

**phantomfanatic:** Ooh, you should read _Phantom_. It's brilliant. It's being reprinted soon so you'll be able to get hold of a copy. 'Unconcious affection'-you noticed! Yay! Maybe I'm being too subtle... Hope the move went well!

**Kaledena:** Yay! I love _Phantom_ too. This chapter's even longer...

**PhantomFreak07:** :gives welcoming cookies: Aww, thanks for the compliments. I'm afraid he won't be watching the DVD for another ten chapters or so. Sorry! Have this one to make up for it.

**HisInspiration:** Yay for tired cuteness! Yes, Mark will be making a reappearance thanks to your review. He's still going to be an evil git though...

**Saripunkinpie:** Wow, madly enthusiastic reviewer. I love people like you. I'm glad you like my Erik. Not sure if you'll love him so much after this chapter though... 

And enter Angry!Erik…

**In His Darkness…**

I sprinted up the tunnel through the chapel and found a payphone along the street from the opera house.

"Âllo?"

"Monique?"

"Oui?"

"C'est Marguerite."

"Marguerite!" she said, slipping into English. "How are you?"

"Ça va," I answered. "Listen, can I see you? Now?"

"Yes, but why?"

"I've got a problem with my, uh, landlord."

"Landlord?" she asked, confused.

"Yes, my _propriétaire_."

"Oh, d'accord. Well, we will meet you…"

"We?"

"Er, I am with Pierre at the moment."

I was surprised but said, "Ok, bring him too."

"The Café Lapin on Avenue Mitterrand."

"The Café _Rabbit_!"

"Yes. Twenty minutes?"

"Make it fifteen and it's my shout."

Being used to my colloquialisms and having picked up some of her own, she replied, "Deal," and hung up.

**-8 -**

Fifteen minutes later, I was outside the Café Lapin. It had just started to rain when Monique and Pierre turned up. She was looking aggravated and her gorgeous ringlets had begun to frizz. Pierre looked annoyed; apparently I had interrupted something. We went inside just as the heavens opened and found an empty table at the back of the café.

"So," Monique said, waving her hair around in a vain attempt to dry it, "what is this problem with your, uh, landlord?"

I sighed. This was going to be hard to explain. "It's…difficult. He's a wonderful person, but he's got a filthy temper. He said I could stay there as long as I want, which is great, but, well," I sighed again. "A friend of his turned up today, and he got really mad and threw me out so they could talk."

"He got angry with you?" said Pierre, who was concentrating very hard to keep up with my quick English.

"No, with Nadir."

"Nadir? There is a Nadir at the opera house. M. Khan is in charge of security."

"Really? I've never met him."

"You wouldn't have done. He is very secretive," said Monique and then added with a giggle, "Sometimes we call him 'The Persian'. Like in the book?"

"Oh," I said lamely, wondering how they would react if I told them that my 'landlord' and his friend were the very same fictional characters they were thinking about.

"You do not sound enthusiastic," said Monique huffily. "I thought you liked everything to do with _le fantôme_."

"I do. It's just…hard to explain." I laughed wryly and said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

They looked at me curiously but didn't pry; something for which I was very grateful.

"So where do you live?" asked Pierre, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Erm…"

"Near the opera house?"

I paused. Technically, I did live near the opera house; under it was not the same as in it. However, I couldn't tell them that. "Yes."

Pierre whistled softly. "_C'est un__quartier plus cher_."

"I know," I replied. "My landlord is being very generous in letting me stay there."

Monique leant across the table and took my hand. "You only have to pay him in euros, don't you? You don't have to do, er, anything else." She raised her eyebrows significantly at my confused expression.

"Ew, Monique!" I pulled my hand away and scowled. "He's nearly forty! Ok, so he's kind, and understanding, and easy to talk to, and a musician, and, yes, he's incredibly cute in his own way, even with his violent temper, but he's my _landlord_!"

"You like him!" she squealed.

"No. No, no, no, no, _no_," I said firmly. "We are not going there. That is one place in which none shall venture. Erik is all of those things but he is _a friend_. That is all."

"Erik?" said Pierre with a slight smirk. "_Comme le fantôme_?"

I mentally kicked myself for letting his name slip out but said, "I never thought of that."

"You're blushing," giggled Monique. "I suppose he wears a mask as well!"

"Only during our kinky sex games when I'm short on cash," I said dryly.

Monique burst into laughter and translated for a confused Pierre who grinned.

"So," I said when the laughter subsided, "what were you guys up to when I so rudely interrupted."

They looked at each other for a moment before Monique said innocently, "Nothing."

I eyed her suspiciously and took a gulp of my rapidly cooling hot chocolate.

"You have cream on your nose," said Pierre. He leant over and gently wiped it off.

The sweet gesture surprised me and I smiled softly. "Merci."

He smiled shyly and looked down at his coffee.

I glanced at Monique and saw that she was grinning. "I don't know what you're looking so smug about," I said.

"Oh," she said carelessly, "I was just thinking about something we were talking about earlier."

"Oh, yes?" I said suspiciously.

"Yes," she replied, smiling sweetly and clearly not about to offer any more details.

We passed the next hour and a half in the café, chatting happily about work, music, dancing and Christmas. We walked back to our respective homes together and Pierre and I waved Monique off when she parted. "So," I said after a few minutes walking in silence along the glistening Paris streets, "what were you two talking about when I rang?"

"The _bal masque_. We were trying to think of costumes," replied Pierre easily.

"Have you decided on a costume yet?"

"Non. As tu?"

"Non. I want to concentrate on Christmas first," I said. "Speaking of which, you've known Monique longer than I have; do you know what she'd like for Christmas?"

He looked confused.

"Er, Est-ce que tu crois Monique voudrais pour le Noël?"

"Ah!" his face lit up in understanding. "Oui. Je pense qu'elle voudrais nouveau ballerines."

"Ballet slippers?" I said, biting my lip. "Aren't they expensive?"

He shrugged. "Je ne sais pas. We could buy them together if it is easier."

I smiled thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe."

We got to the end of the street where we would be going our separate ways. "This is where I must leave you," said Pierre. He leant towards me and gave me a kiss on each cheek.

"Salut, Pierre," I smiled. "A demain."

"Oui, a demain." He waved and set off down the street.

I turned and headed towards the opera house, slightly worried as to what I would find there.

**-8 -**

I crept down the tunnel from the chapel as quietly as I could, my trainers making a slight scraping noise as they brushed against loose dirt on the ground. I stopped at the entrance to the cavern and pressed my ear against the gap where the door joins the wall in an attempt to hear anything. Unfortunately, I had no need to be standing so close, as Erik's voice exploded just the other side of the door.

"I don't need you here, Khan!" he yelled in angry French, making me jump back from the wall in shock. "You're always snooping around, getting in the way and making me miss valuable appointments, just like that great-grandfather you are named for."

There was a pause in which I assume Nadir spoke.

"My appointments do not concern you-"

Another pause.

"-and I will thank you to stop interrupting me! It is none of your business why she sees me without the mask, nor is it your business why she is here at all. It is my home and I will do what I like."

I could just make out Nadir say "Erik…trust her? …secrets…"

"Of course I trust her, Nadir," said Erik, still angry but seemingly calming down slightly.

"If I didn't, she wouldn't be here."

Another pause.

"No, of course I don't mean I'd have killed her, don't be stupid," he spat, his voice becoming angrier. "I'm not like that anymore. And even if I was, I wouldn't be now."

His voice became quieter and I pressed my ear against the gap in the cold stone to make out what he was saying.

"Something about her makes me feel more human,-"

I scowled, making a mental note to have a go at him for saying something so horrid about himself.

"-more normal," he continued. "I even got that opera out of my system. She's been a wonderful friend, companion and confidante, and, well, it's just good to know that she's there to talk to should I get bored of my own company. She has been like a sister to me. She's a wonderful musician as well, but without much confidence to make a go of performing professionally."

I blushed in the dark, proud that he should say those things about me, and smiled softly.

"You could do something about that," I faintly heard Nadir say.

"I could, and I will," said Erik firmly, making me grin widely in the dark tunnel.

"You love her," said Nadir, almost triumphantly.

"What!" exclaimed Erik.

"You love her."

I could almost hear Erik's jaw drop before realising that mine had done the same thing.

"You're mad," he said flatly. "She is a _friend_, a good friend, and nothing more."

"Maybe she is, Erik," said Nadir firmly, his voice getting nearer. "But I've known you for many years. I know you've changed. And this change has happened in the last few months. I don't know why I didn't notice it before." His voice was right outside the entrance where I was standing developing a back ache and a cold ear. "You hold yourself taller, you've gained weight. I don't mean that in a bad way," he said defensively, "I mean, you look less like a skeleton than usual. I've seen you smile more than once during our meetings when you think I'm not looking. There's something in your eyes, as well; you look younger somehow."

"You're imagining things, Nadir," said Erik coldly. "Now get out before she comes back, and I don't want you in here again without my permission."

I heard a faint sigh and then footsteps walking away to the other side of the cavern. I remained still and silent for a few minutes until a cramp in my foot made it unbearable and I shifted my position, dislodging a stone with my foot and sending it skittering down the tunnel. Thankfully, the noise was covered by and explosion of the vocal sort and a crashing of the china-meets-stone-wall sort.

"ARGH!"

The crash hit the wall exactly where I was standing making me jump. I would have been able to keep my balance if it wasn't for the severe cramp that was spreading up my calf muscle. I fell backwards with a squeal and landed on something furry that squeaked, causing me to squeal even louder and crawl against the opposite wall. The door next to me opened and Erik stood there, towering over me looking worried and angry. His normally neat black hair was in a wild mess and his face was flushed. The mask had slipped to one side, half covering his eye, and he pulled it off impatiently.

"Mouse!" I squeaked, shuffling over and hiding behind his leg.

"Actually, it was a rat," he said, watching said rat scurry up the tunnel away from the light.

I made an inarticulate squeaking noise and struggled to my feet, rubbing my left calf muscle in a vain attempt to ease the cramp.

"What's wrong?" he asked, watching me grimace as I rubbed my calf.

"Cramp," I said shortly, wincing.

"How long were you there?" he asked, helping me to the lounge to sit down before kneeling in front of me and massaging my muscle.

"Not long," I lied. "I was about to push open the door when whatever that crash was surprised me and I fell over."

He looked at me, not believing me for one second. "So how did you get a cramp if you were only there for a few seconds?"

"I heard people coming into the chapel as I was about to open the wall," I said thinking quickly. "I had to crouch in that alcove beside the window until they went away."

"I see." He stopped rubbing my leg. "Is that better?"

"The cramp's gone if that's what you mean," I said looking into his beautiful golden eyes intently for any sign of emotion.

An expression that was a mixture of suspicion and hope flickered across his face before it became impassive again. "Good." He knee-walked over to the fireplace and prodded at the dying embers, carefully adding more wood, until a fire was crackling in the grate once more. He stood up and his knee clicked, making us both wince, him in pain and me in sympathy, before sitting down in the armchair opposite me. "Did you have a good time when you were out?"

I shrugged. "I suppose so. I think Monique and Pierre are up to something though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They were both at Monique's when I called her and Pierre was acting very strangely. More so than usual, I mean."

Erik smiled half-heartedly.

"What's the matter?" I asked anxiously.

"Nadir," he hissed angrily, his hands balling into fists. "He gets me so angry. He was being especially aggravating today; he kept asking me about you."

"About me?"

"Yes. About why you were here, what possessed me to bring you here, did I trust you, blah, blah, blah." He scowled, his face contorting horribly. "I told him that unless he wanted a nose like mine, he should keep it out of business that doesn't concern him."

This time it was my turn for a half-hearted smile.

"What's the matter with you?"

I sighed, deciding against bringing up what I had heard. "He's the Persian, isn't he? A descendant of the original Persian from Leroux's novel."

"Yes."

"And you have meetings every week like Susan Kay wrote?"

"Every fortnight actually."

"For the same purpose though."

"So he can keep an eye on me? Yes. He also kept me company."

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Past tense?"

"Before you came along," he said with a mock glare.

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, my voice lightly sarcastic. "I'll go back to my woman-beating boyfriend, shall I?" I made a move to get up.

Like lightening, Erik was at my side, crouching next to my chair with his hand on my arm. "Don't even joke about that," he said roughly. "What that…_monster_ did to you is inexcusable. Even at my worst, I have never harmed a woman."

"Not even the khanum?" I asked quietly, looking into his unguarded expression.

He shook his head. "Not even that despicable woman."

I sighed and put my hand on his shoulder, absently playing with the ends of his black hair that just reached the top of his collar. "That torture chamber was real?"

He shifted from a crouch to a more comfortable sitting position leaning against the chair. "Yes," he said softly. "That woman was the devil incarnate. She thrived on evil, she got off, I believe is the term, on murder and death."

I frowned and wrinkled my nose in disgust. "That's sick. I can't believe there were people like that in this world. I can't believe there still are."

"Really?" Erik looked up at me and I stopped twisting his hair around my little finger.

"Still?"

"Yes," I answered. "Come with me." I stood up and, limping slightly from the after effects of cramp, went to my room with Erik following me. I rummaged through a box of old magazines in the bottom of my wardrobe, scanning the real-life stories quickly.

"Here." I handed Erik two magazines, one with 'My uncle was eaten by a cannibal' on the front in a bold yellow font, and the other with 'One day I was planning a wedding-the next I was planning a funeral' in bright pink scrawled across the cover model's arm.

Erik flicked through the articles quickly, his expression turning from anger to sickness to sadness. "These are true stories?"

"Yep," I nodded. "They were in the papers back in England. That cannibal one got some major coverage."

"I'm not surprised," Erik said looking nauseous. He handed me the magazines and I turned to drop them haphazardly into the box when he stopped me. "What's that?"

He was pointing at a very old edition of a very bad magazine that I had only bought for the TV guide. One of the cover stories was 'Don't judge my baby just because she was born without a face' accompanied by a picture of a mother with her child over her shoulder so it was facing away from the camera.

"Erm," I said.

Erik leant around me and snatched it up. He turned the pages until he came to the article. He read through it, his face disbelieving. "Surgery?" he whispered. "This can be changed by surgery?" He turned the magazine round so I could see the picture.

The child was about two and a half years old. Her eyes were bulbous and her nose had barely developed. Her mouth hung open where her lower jaw hadn't formed and her tongue lolled over her lower lip. She had tubes in her nose to help her breathe and her hair was sparser than it should have been. I read the quick points of the story at the top of the article. The girl had a rare condition that meant the bones of her face hadn't formed properly in the womb and she had been born with a serious defect. Her face was gradually being reconstructed by surgeons but it would take many more operations before it looked normal.

I chanced a look at Erik's face. He was angry. His jaw was clenched and his face was red. His golden eyes which I had looked into so easily a few minutes ago were shooting sparks.

"How long have you been keeping this from me?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

"I haven't been keeping it from you," I said honestly. "I forgot it was there."

"You liar!" he yelled throwing the magazine at me so hard, the hand I threw up in front of my face was cut by one of the centre staples. "You kept this from me so you could have me to yourself. Your own freak, your own Erik. Who cares about Erik? No-one! Who knows he exists? No-one!" He stormed around my room, throwing books at the walls and tearing down the green velvet drapes. "You lying bitch!" he screamed. "A chance at freedom, a chance to live a normal life and you kept it from me!"

"Erik…" I began, terrified.

"NO!" he roared. "NO! My one chance and you kept it from me!" He strode across my room and picked up the last book that was available for him to throw. My copy of _Fen_ by Freya North flew across the room and smashed into the lamp which had just been repaired from when I'd thrown _The Man in the Iron Mask_ at it. He turned to my computer and picked it up. I could tell what he was about to do and I ran over to him.

"Erik! No!" I pleaded, tugging on his arm.

"Get off me!" he roared. "Get _off_!" As he said the final word, he flung his arm out to throw me off but his elbow caught me in the face sending me flying across the room with a scream and crashing into the music stand. I collapsed amid a flurry of sheet music and stared at him stunned.

His face fell. He stared at me shocked and panting from the exertion of his anger. "Marguerite…" He took a step towards me.

I made a terrified noise in the back of my throat and cowered away from him with my arms up across my head and face. I closed my eyes and waited for another angry blow, as I had done so many times before. I felt my right eye begin to swell as silent tears streamed down my face and mixed with the blood from my split lip.

I felt rather than heard Erik crouch down beside me. "Let me look at you," he said softly.

"No, Mark, please. No more," I said shakily, cringing away from the sound of his voice.

There was a sharp intake of breath as he heard what I had called him. "Mark? _Merde_."

"I'm sorry, Mark, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'll make it up to you if you only stop. Please, stop." I was slowly dissolving into hysteria and my tears were falling thicker and faster. I dropped my arms from their defensive position and covered my face with my hands.

"Marguerite…"

I felt hands on my arms and pulled away with a sharp scream, nestling myself into a corner with one arm wrapped around my legs and my face buried in the wall. "No, no more, please, no more."

I heard Erik stand up and walk away from me. He stopped at the door and there was a pause in which I was sure he was going to say something. The footsteps continued and he walked out of the room.

When I heard mournful violin music coming from his room, I uncurled myself from my corner and crawled into bed not bothering to get undressed. I wrapped the covers tightly around my body and fell asleep, my face throbbing.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** I liked writing this chapter but I hated having to put it in. Argh. Sorry it's so long but to make up for it the next chapter is quite short.


	20. Bruises

**A/N:** Yes, I know I said I'd update every Friday, and yes, I know it's Sunday but my lectures start tomorrow and I want to get this up before I get sucked into doing actual work :shudder: Also, this contains one use of the f-word. Sorry to those who hate bad language.

**Ellardis Merithdire:** Hee, thanks. Strange in a good way, I hope.

**PhantomFanatic:** Awww, thanks. I wouldn't say _Phantom_ contains mind torture exactly, at least, not explicit. It does have stuff about drug use and evil torture devices but as long as you're not too squeamish you should be fine.

**MusicGirl141:** Sorry this is such a short chapter! The next one is longer, promise!

**PhantomFreak07:** Well, I thought that she'd be all hysterical and terrified so she'd get confused. All those horrible memories being dragged up in a place where she thought she'd be safe… I loved writing the masked ball chapter _so much_! It's chapter 26, by the way so you've got a bit of a wait. And, yes, you are right in the translation. When I took French, our teacher wouldn't tell us anything interesting. I had to wait until we had a French teaching assistant come to our school for a bit in my A-level year to learn interesting stuff. Now I can swear like a pro!

**SariPunkinPie:** Oh, we all love Erik, even when he's being horrible. Hope this chapter fulfils expectations! (Or, if it doesn't, that you like it anyway…)

**In His Darkness…**

I woke early the next morning and rolled over onto my back with a groan, vaguely wondering why my face hurt so much and why my right eye wouldn't open. It all came back in a rush; the chat in the lounge, the feel of his hair on my fingers, the magazines, the shouting, the throwing… I curled up in a ball again, hoping that he wouldn't come in. I couldn't bear to look at him, let alone talk to him or hug him. I glanced at my bedside table and saw a note resting on it. I stretched out a hand tentatively, as if I were afraid that it too would start hitting me, and unfolded it.

_Marguerite,_

_I know you have no desire to be around me. I have no wish to be around myself._

_I will be out all day around the opera house and at Guillaume's and I do not expect you to be here when I return._

_Sorry is a weak, pathetic word for how I feel. I cannot begin to apologise enough, even though I know that nothing will be able to make you trust me again._

_Goodbye, my friend, my angel…_

_Erik -8-  
_

I sniffed sadly and wiped at my watering right eye. I hated him and was terrified of him and yet I didn't want to leave him. However, I knew I couldn't stay there. If I did, I would be living in terror and would never regain my shattered confidence.

I rolled out of bed and went over to my mirror, the only one in the cave. I pushed my messy hair out of my face and gasped. My right eye had swollen shut and it was a collage of blue, black and purple. The edge of the bruise was bright red and it stretched from just above my brow to the top of my cheek, and from the side of my nose to the end of my eyebrow. I prodded the bruise gently and let out a hiss of pain, as well as a few well chosen curses. It hurt. A lot. I sighed and turned away from the mirror. As I dressed, I wondered whether Erik was where he said he was, and it was with some trepidation that I ventured out into the main cavern. As I walked to the kitchen, I glanced nervously into every room to make sure that I was alone. I was. I breathed a sigh of relief as I poured a glass of orange juice and sat down in the kitchen to drink. I didn't know what to do with my day. Should I pack, or should I just run? Should I go home? No. That was definitely not what I wanted to do. Paris had become my home now; here under the opera house was my home. If I did leave, where would I go? Maybe I could stay with Monique for a while, or Guillaume.

I sighed, finished my drink and went to the lounge to find some of my things that I had left there. I picked up two books and a CD and took them to my room. I became increasingly depressed as I realised just how much stuff I had and how many bags I would have to take. I might even have to make two trips, I thought, biting my lip nervously. I sighed and began to pack. I shoved my clothes, half folded, into a large rucksack and shoved as many books and DVDs as I could into the side pockets and that space at the bottom that you're supposed to put shoes in. I lifted it experimentally and almost gave myself a hernia. I put my computer and the wires into the case and slid some of my sheet music into the pockets. The rest of the sheet music was put carefully into four (large) plastic bags and the majority of my books were stacked in a small day-rucksack that I had bought.

By the time I'd finished packing, it was almost three o'clock. I realised with a groan that it was a Friday and I would have to go to work in an hour. I thought briefly about calling in sick, or just not turning up at all, but decided that I would have to go in. I wanted to talk to Monique about staying with her until I found a new place. I brushed my hair out from the scraggly ponytail I had pulled it into when I was packing and left it loose so it would hang partially over my face. Going to the kitchen to grab some food before work, I thought I heard a noise coming from the tunnel that led to the chapel. I whirled, completely on my guard and ready for a fight, but saw nothing. Convinced it was my imagination, or another rat, I made a sandwich and ate it quickly. Back in my room again, I read for a while until three-thirty rolled around. I got up from where I had been laying on my bed and pulled on my shoes. Picking up my flute, I walked out into the main cavern.

I walked with my head lowered, hair hanging across my face, and didn't realise Erik was behind me until he put an arm round my waist, pinning my left arm to my side. I let out a loud scream that he quickly stifled with his hand, although he hadn't betted on the fact that my mouth was so wide open in a scream I could bite him. I bit him. Hard. Not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough for him to yell something rude in French and let go. The arm around my waist tightened and with my free right arm I began to whack at any part of him I could reach. "Let go of me!" I yelled loudly in English, my voice echoing throughout the cavern. "Let go!"

"Please, Marguerite," he said, surprisingly calmly, "this is for your own good."

"The hell it is!" I shouted and lifted both feet off the floor. This, however, was not such a good plan. I had hoped that he would drop me but I'd forgotten just how strong Erik is. He held me in the air and I kicked out wildly at his legs. My left heel made a satisfyingly loud connection with that felt like a shin bone and I was proved right as Erik yelled another curse in French and dropped me.

I wasn't expecting to be dropped just then and so instead of landing gracefully and running off, I collapsed into a heap on the floor in front of him. I scuttled backwards until I was against the wall. I watched him hop around, clutching at his left leg and I couldn't help but spare an evil grin, even in my anger and fright. I pushed myself up using the wall as a support and jogged to the entrance of the tunnel. Erik's arms snaked their way around my waist, pinning both of my arms to my sides. I lashed about with my head and legs but it was completely useless.

"Marguerite, please calm down," he pleaded. "I want to help you."

"If you ever want to be a father some day, I suggest you _GET THE FUCK OFF ME!_" I screamed, putting my mouth as close to his ear as possible.

Erik pushed me sideways against a wall so that my right arm was between it and my body. My left was still jammed down by my side by Erik's arm. I watched fearfully as he pulled out a cloth from a pocket and brought it near to my face. I could smell a sickly sweet odour coming from it and knew, from all the cheesy kidnapping movies I've seen, that it was chloroform or something similar. I felt my eyes widen in terror, wondering what the hell he was going to do with me when he'd knocked me out and jammed my head as close to the wall as possible.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Marguerite," he said calmly. "Trust me!"

"I trusted you before and look what that gave me!" I screamed.

"It was an accident," he said pleadingly, and I noticed that he had stopped moving the cloth towards me.

"It doesn't feel like an accident," I spat, my black eye throbbing painfully.

"This is for your own good," he said, looking dejected and raising the cloth again. "Don't worry about me."

"I won't," I snarled, turning to face him full on so he could see the extent of my black eye.

He sighed and put the cloth against my mouth. I struggled, but nothing would move his hand. "Your luggage will be in the chapel," he said softly, almost tenderly.

Before I had time to process these words, or think about the tone in which they were said, I blacked out.

**-8 -**

** A/N:** What you were expecting? Yes? No? Did you like it anyway? Please review, even if only to let me know you're reading the fic!


	21. Telling the story

**A/N: **Wow, I managed to confuse lots of people! Hopefully it all makes a bit of sense now… Also, has anyone else had trouble with receiving the updates? I haven't had any in ages.

**HisInspiration:** It should all make sense now… I'm having problems with the update links too :shakes fist at ff.n:

**Kathy.L:** Awww, thanks for the review! Glad you like it :hands over welcoming cookies:

**PhantomFanatic:** All will become clear… The use of the phrase 'splitting up' makes it sound as though they are a couple. Let me just clarify that they are not. P.S. Parents suck.

**SariPunkinPie:** Oh yes, utterly fabulous. Dom!Erik is my favourite :) So sexy, so strong, so…:runs off to take a cold shower: Sorry.

**PhantomFreak07:** Well, maybe I exaggerated a bit. Not a pro, more of a minor-leaguer. Enjoy the homework!

Quick translation: _On y va_ means 'lets go'.

**In His Darkness…**

"Urgh."

"Oh, merci, mon Dieu. Marguerite? Can you hear me?" said a woman's voice.

"Ugh." I struggled against a murky fog and slowly blinked open my eyes. Well, one eye. "Where am I?"

"You are in the auditorium," said the voice, which I now realised was Monique's. "In box five."

"How cheesy," I mumbled.

"Quoi?"

"Doesn't matter." I tried to sit up and failed miserably. I felt a strong arm around my back and smelt a man's spray. Automatically I flinched away until I heard his voice.

"Hush, Marguerite, it is me," said Pierre. "You are in luck that I would do the grand tier today."

I relaxed and let him help me to sit up. I slowly pushed my hair out of my face and heard a gasp from Monique as she saw my black eye.

"Mon Dieu, what happened!" she screeched.

"Do French people really say 'mon Dieu'?" I asked, avoiding the question.

"Yes, but do not skip the question. What happened!"

I was too tired, and still a little drugged up to bother correcting her. "I walked into a shelf," I said.

"A shelf?" said Pierre, his voice trembling. "This looks more like a fist."

I looked up at him and saw that his jaw was set and his black eyes were filled with anger. "It wasn't a fist," I said truthfully, putting my hand on his shoulder as I wriggled into a more comfortable position. _It was an elbow_.

Pierre knelt beside me and put an arm round my back causing me to lean into him. "How did you get here?"

"I have no idea," I said. "I remember…" I broke off before saying 'Erik knocking me out with chloroform'. "…nothing," I finished lamely.

"Are you sure you are ok?" asked Monique worriedly.

"I'll be fine," I said smiling at her reassuringly. "Although I could use a place to stay for a while…?"

"Of course," she said. "You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you wish."

I sighed, still feeling woozy. "Shouldn't you two be working?"

"When I found you," said Pierre, "Mme LaCroix gave us the day off so we could look after you."

"That was kind of her," I said. I sat leaning against Pierre's strong chest for a few more minutes, feeling his heart beating powerfully. I could feel his chest vibrate as he and Monique talked softly.

"Can we go, please?" I asked. "I really want to get out of here."

"Of course," said Monique and she and Pierre helped me to stand up.

"Merci," I said, brushing off my clothes.

"You dropped this," said Pierre, handing something to Monique.

"Non," she said.

"But it has your name on."

"Oh." She took an envelope from him and opened it. As she unfolded the piece of paper inside, I recognised the writing.

As she read, she went very pale. "Mon Dieu," she whispered.

"French people really do say that," I said wondrously.

"What is the matter?" asked Pierre, ignoring my attempt at humour.

Monique handed him the letter and he and I read it together.

_Take good care of her._

_O.G._

_- -_

Pierre went pale beneath his tan. "How did he know you were here?"

I paused, trying to think of a decent explanation but sighed as I realised there was no way in hell I could come up with one. "Because he did this," I sighed, gesturing to my face. "He brought me here."

"He did this?" said Monique in a frightened whisper.

"Yep. I'll tell you everything, both of you. But not here."

Monique and Pierre exchanged glances but we left the opera house and crossed the city to her flat. Using the Paris Metro, it didn't take long.

Monique lived in a flat near the Gare du Nord. It was just big enough for two friendly people to share. It had a small lounge-slash-dining room, a bedroom, a small bathroom and a kitchenette. "Sit down and I will fetch some drinks," she said gesturing to the small sofa-bed.

"Er, you'd better make those drinks alcoholic," I said. "You're going to need it."

She threw me a curious glance but went off to the kitchenette and returned with two bottles of wine, three glasses, some crisps and a corkscrew.

I opened a bottle of wine and poured three large glasses. I drank half of mine in one mouthful, knowing I would need as much Dutch courage as possible.

Pierre and Monique looked at me with their mouths open.

"What?" I said defensively. "I said you were going to need it."

They exchanged significant glances and took delicate sips from their glasses.

"Right," I said, feeling slightly more confident. "I'm going to tell you."

They looked at me attentively, wine in hand,

"First, you have to promise to believe me. No matter what I say, no matter what I tell you, you have to believe me because I'm telling you the truth. Some of it isn't very nice, and hardly any of it is believable, but it's all true."

They nodded silently.

"Ok." I took a deep breath and said seriously, "My landlord, Erik, did this to me…"

"I thought you said the opera ghost did it," interrupted Pierre.

"Yeah, that's the other thing," I said nervously. "Erik hasn't just got the same name as the phantom; Erik _is_ the Phantom of the Opera."

There was a pause before they both burst into hysterical laughter.

**-8 -**

When their laughter subsided, I told them everything; what happened with Mark, how Erik rescued me, how I lived with him, how we'd become close. Everything except what was under the mask. By the time I'd finished explaining, Monique and Pierre were still trying not to laugh. Their expressions were serious but their eyes were twinkling. My wine glass had been refilled three times but they were both still on their first glass.

When I finished, Pierre smiled and said, "That was a very good story. You should put it on the internet, on one of those fanfiction sites."

"Yes," said Monique. "It is a good story. But it is only a story. I think you must have hit your head very hard and got confused."

I sighed irritably. "It is _not_ a story! Erik did this to me. He did everything that I told you."

"If you know him so well," challenged Monique, "tell us what is under his mask."

"No," I said firmly. "He didn't really want me to see but I didn't give him a choice. I wouldn't betray him like that."

"Even though he hurt you?"

"It was an accident," I said. "I made him angry. God knows I should have known not to make him angry. I just had to get out. In that moment he reminded me of Mark so much. The way he hurt me and then seemed so concerned and caring. In Mark's case it was an act but in Erik's, I'm not so sure." I slumped back on the sofa and chewed on my thumbnail. "Maybe I should go back to him."

"Whoever you are talking about, whether he is _le fantôme_ or a normal man, you should not go back to him," said Monique.

Pierre nodded fervently and took my hand. "Stay with Monique. Then I can be sure that you are safe."

I squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly at them both. "I will be safe."

"No!" said Monique loudly. "I do not care who this man is, you will not go back to him. You are staying with me."

"Monique, I don't want to give you any trouble," I protested feebly.

"You are my friend, you are not trouble," she said giving me a quick hug.

"I still need to go back to the opera house though," I said. "My things are going to be there."

"Did you bring them with you?"

"No, Erik said he'd put them in the chapel. At least, I think so," I said, screwing up my face in concentration. "It's a bit fuzzy."

"The chapel has been out of use for years!" said Pierre. "I'm not letting you go there alone."

"Of course not!" I replied. "I've got too much stuff for one person to carry. You can both come with me."

"_On y va_," said Pierre, standing up and pulling me up by the hand. I wobbled slightly (too much wine far too quickly) and he steadied me with an arm on my waist.

Monique took the glasses to the kitchen with a slight smirk on her face and then the three of us left her flat and went back across Paris to the opera house.

**-8 -**

"I told you that this place was not safe," whispered Pierre, as we made our way down the winding spiral stone stairs.

Even though the steps were worn, they were covered in dust and cobwebs covered the walls.

"It's fine," I said. "I've heard people coming down here a few times. Although I've never been that way myself."

"Then how did you get in?" asked Monique.

"The window," I replied simply. "The managers should really do something about that; anyone could walk in."

We reached the chapel and looked around. In front of the mural were my bags and on top of them laid a box wrapped in Christmas paper. "Huh," I said, picking up the box and reading the label. "'Not to be opened until Christmas Day'. Well, duh."

The box was about twenty inches square and six deep. As I held it, I could feel the contents moving around inside. I shook it and it made a scrunching sound like tissue paper. Shrugging, I tucked it under my arm and helped Monique and Pierre with the rest of the bags.

Pierre took the largest rucksack, groaning under its weight, and one of the bags of music. Monique took the day-rucksack with my books and another two bags full of sheet music. I took my computer and the remaining carrier bag.

We began to walk up the stairs again when I had a sudden thought. "Wait a minute."

They stopped and I rummaged quickly through the plastic bags of sheet music where I usually kept… "My piccolo! I've left it behind."

"No big loss," muttered Monique.

I slapped her gently on the arm. "I've got to go and get it. Go up to the top of the stairs and wait there. Do not come down. I mean it."

I waited until they were at the top of the staircase before turning to the mural and pulling it back. I slid it closed behind me in case they decided to break their promise and come looking. Without bothering to light a candle, I made my way silently along the passage until I came to the wall. I pushed it and it swung open silently. I tiptoed my way to the music room as I was sure I had left my piccolo on a shelf. The small black case was sitting there, untouched, just as I knew it would be. I sighed in relief and picked it up before turning and leaving the room.

I was just about to go into the passage once more when I heard a racking sob come from the lounge. Instinctively, I began to walk towards the noise but stopped when I heard the voices.

"It was an accident, Nadir, an _accident_." Another sob. "Why me? Why her? Especially now, today of all days when I need her most."

"The anniversary, of course," replied Nadir in a soothing voice. "But she is not your sister."

"May Natalie forgive me, but she was better than a sister," Erik sobbed. "I rescued her, I helped her, and now I have hurt her and she has gone. She will not come back and I do not blame her. Although I wish she would. I need her voice, her company. I need her music." He dissolved into sobs again and I realised that tears were running down my own face.

Every fibre of my being wanted desperately to go to him and hug him madly, and tell him I would never leave him. Something in my brain was holding me back; a survival instinct that was warning me that he had hurt me once and he could hurt me again.

I was so busy fighting with these feelings that I didn't hear Nadir say he was going to the kitchen until it was too late. He stepped out of the lounge and did a double take when he saw me standing there. I hurriedly put my finger to my lips and he gave a barely perceptible nod. I pointed at the music room and he gave that small nod again. I crept into the music room and waited.

A few moments later, Nadir joined me. "Why are you here?" he hissed in heavily accented English.

"I forgot my piccolo," I replied quickly, brushing the subject aside. "Is Erik ok?"

"He will be," said Nadir, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"Shhh!" I hissed. "He'll hear you. I don't want him to know I'm here."

"He won't hear you. He is too wrapped up in his grief."

"Oh, God, don't say that," I moaned quietly. "I can't stay here, Nadir. You know that."

"I know." His voice was sympathetic but there was a hardness in his eyes that I didn't like. "But do not cut off all ties with him. He has not had many friends in his long life."

"I will," I promised. I cocked my head to one side thoughtfully as I said, "You don't like me, do you?"

He started slightly at my blunt statement but recovered quickly. "That is not important. Erik seems to depend on you and so I will have to learn to accept you."

I sucked my lower lip between my teeth and shot a glance towards the main cavern as another sob filled the air. "Do you really think he loves me?"

His eyes widened in amazement. "You heard that?"

I nodded slowly. "Some of it."

He sighed resignedly. "Yes, I believe he does. For all your shortcomings," he added snidely.

I refused to rise to his bait-the last thing Erik needed was his only friends having a blazing row. "I have to go, Nadir. Keep an eye on him for me. It took ages for me to make him look healthy." I left the room and went to the tunnel entrance. I pushed the door open and turned to gaze one last time around the place that had become my home. As my eyes swept past the lounge, they met another pair.

When Erik walked out of the lounge, I gasped. I had been gone less than a day and he looked like I had been gone for months. His normally neat black hair was a mess and his mask was gone. His beautiful golden eyes were red and watery, and filled with sadness. I looked away quickly knowing that if I stared at him for too long I would stay. He was walking with a slight stoop and appeared even thinner than usual. "Marguerite." His beautiful hypnotic voice was hoarse.

I held up my hand to stop him. "Don't say anything, Erik. If you say any more I will stay and I can't do that." I managed to meet his eyes as I said, "Leave anything of mine in box five. I'll do the same with your things. Goodbye, Erik."

I turned and stepped into the tunnel. As the door closed behind me, I heard a thud of a body falling to the floor and a wailing sob.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** It broke my heart to do this to Erik. For any abuse and 'I hate you'-s I receive, don't worry-I hate me too. I received all the mentally-thrown tomatoes and expect to receive some for this chapter. :ducks:

Please note, the next few chapters are going to come rather more slowly as lectures start to kick in, and I sort of lost the whole of Chapter 28 in the transfer from my home PC to my laptop. Now I have to remember what I wrote. Argh.

I managed to get my hands on three rather lovely things today: the script to _Don Juan_ by Ronald Duncan, the 1920s silent movie of _Phantom_ and the 1984 movie. I'm now going to annoy my housemates by watching them both. To the DVD player!


	22. A new diva

**A/N:** Wow, talk about hate mail! Honestly, I believe in the power of fluff and happy endings so you can all rest assured that this is only a minor diversion.

Random conversation with my housemate when watching the silent version of _Phantom_: Me: Now that's what I call a disfigurement:applauds: Her: I've seen scarier things in Disney. Me: Well, it's a whole lot better than Gerry's Sunburn Of Doom.

**Kaledena:** :wonders why you would be rushing off to a dance class before realising that although it may be half past midnight in England, it isn't elsewhere: Sorry, I was having a moment… Sorry for making you sob! Have some cookies.

**PhantomFreak07:** :taps head: it's all up here. Don't worry, I live for fluff but there can't be fluff without angst! Hopefully, you will like me again in a few chapters.

**SariPunkinPie:** Hands off! He's all mine :snuggles her Erik:

**HisInspiration: **You are possibly the only person not to hurl rotten tomatoes at me! You are the first person to guess that…or at least the first to mention it. :hands over specially baked brownies: Hurrah for you! The silent movie rocks.

**WanderingChild24:** I love surprising people. And I'm so glad you don't hate me! Have fun at school!

I put in the LJ update for a quick reminder for you guys as well.

**In His Darkness…**

Fiercely blinking back tears, I ran blindly up the tunnel and opened the wall at the end. The luggage I was supposed to be carrying was still there and I picked up the bags, dropping my piccolo into one of them. I walked up the spiral staircase and found Monique and Pierre sitting at the top talking quietly.

"...to the masked ball," I heard Monique say, before Pierre jumped up to greet me. Well, as best he could with a heavy rucksack on his back.

"Are you ok?" he asked sounding worried.

"I'm fine. Erik just looked so helpless and alone." I chewed on my lower lip

"How did you manage to see him? You were only gone for a few minutes."

"I told you I lived near the opera house," I said wryly, sensing this was not the time to tell them that 'near' meant 'under'.

"Come, let's go back to mine," said Monique. "We can get you settled in."

I nodded and we left the opera house, carrying my luggage between us.

**-8 -**

When we got back to Monique's flat, the first thing I did was plug my computer in and hook it up to the internet. When the familiar homepage flashed up, I nearly kissed the screen. I sat on her sofa for three hours, writing emails filled with lots of apologies and reading my friends' LiveJournal updates from the past few months. A lot of my friend's entries for the past month contained things like, 'Has anyone heard from **primadonna** lately?" and "Where's **primadonna**?".

Feeling guilty, I wrote my own entry:

_Dear All,_

_First off, many apologies for not being around and scaring you half to death with my unexplained absence. You may remember that Mark and I went to Paris back at the end of July. Well, I'm still there. And, yes, I know it's nearly December._

_Mark and I broke up, by the way. He's an evil woman-beating bastard, just so you all know. If you see him, you have my permission to kill him. My mum already had a go at him; she poured hot tea over his head. I 3 my mother._

_Anyway, I've been having a great time for most of it. I got a job at the Opera Garnier. Just as a cleaner but the managers know I'm a flutist so I might get into the orchestra. Fingers crossed!_

_I say 'most of the time' because I've had a bit of a rough time lately. Just a few problems with my landlord, nothing too big, so I'm staying with a friend from the opera house. Her name's Monique and she's a cleaner as well, although an aspiring dancer. I'm helping her with her English and she's helping me with my French. I'm quite good mates with Pierre as well, although I don't really want to be too friendly with him; apparently he's got a thing for foreign girls._

_However, now I'm with Monique and have access to the internet, I'll be updating much more often. The internet is probably the only place you'll be able to contact me now but if you want an address to write to, email me and I'll let you know._

_I don't know when I'll be coming back to England, if I come back at all. I'm staying here for Christmas and New Year (there's a masked ball at the opera house for New Year! Yay!)._

_I'm sending cyber-hugs and –kisses to you all._

_Much love,_

_PrimaDonna_

_**xXx**_

I emailed my parents to let them know I'd moved and to say that I wouldn't be home for Christmas. I disconnected from the internet and opened my score writing program, Sibelius. _The Devil's Child_ was there as the last score I'd been working on and I opened the file, taking out the photocopy of the score from my computer case as it loaded. I half considered abandoning the whole project and letting the score go unplayed but, remembering my promise to Nadir, I pushed that thought away.

I curled up on the sofa with my computer balanced on the curve of my knees and added accents and dynamics to the pages I had done already. I was just adding the _pizzicato_ marks to the viola part when Pierre came and sat next to me. I saved the document and exited the program using the quick keyboard shortcuts before he could see what I was doing.

"What are you doing?" he asked trying to peer at the screen.

"A friend from college is doing a solo with the college string orchestra and she wanted me to write out the parts for her," I lied. "I'm one of the few people in our class who have Sibelius."

"Can I see?"

"I've closed it down now," I said, turning the computer to face him.

"Who are they?" he asked, pointing at the picture that made up my desktop.

"Friends," I replied. "Me, Lauren, Graham, Nick, Lucy, Claire and Christine."

"Why do you always find people with names from _Phantom_?" asked Monique from the kitchen.

I grinned at her over my shoulder. "My magnetic attraction I suppose."

Pierre laughed. "Are they coming to the _bal masque_?"

"No."

"Has anyone asked you to go with them yet?"

"Nope," I replied, flicking through my picture files and deleting or 'editing' any that contained Mark. "I was planning on turning up with Monique. If I go at all."

"You are not going?"

"I want to but I haven't got a costume yet and I can't dance to save my life."

"Monique can help you with the dancing. Lots of people just wear normal clothes with a mask instead of going in costume."

"Maybe I will go then," I said, grinning evilly as I drew horns and a pointy tail on a picture of Mark. I turned to face Pierre with a smile. "Why did you want to know?"

"Would you like to come to the _bal masque_ with me?"

"Um," I blushed a little and looked over at Monique. "Who are you going with?" I asked her.

"Oh, I am going with Florent. He asked me today," she replied with a smile and a light blush.

"In that case, Pierre," I said, turning back to him, "I'd love to."

He gave me a huge, relieved smile and a hug.

"When you two are finished, dinner is ready."

Giggling embarrassedly, Pierre and I got our food from the kitchen and the three of us sat down to eat. I hadn't had a decent hot meal in ages; those 'add hot water to dried pasta' meal things were the closest I'd got. My food disappeared fairly rapidly and I sank back into the sofa with a contented sigh.

"You were hungry," said Monique. Her plate was still half full.

"I haven't had such a good hot meal in a long time," I said dreamily, closing my eyes. "If I was a cat I'd be licking my whiskers."

Pierre laughed with his mouth full and sprayed me with bits of food.

"Ew! Pierre!" I squealed brushing pieces of potato off my jeans. "Table manners!"

"Sorry," he said, after swallowing.

"Why do I get stuck with men who talk with their mouth full?" I grumbled to myself.

"Your magnetic attraction also," said Monique with a smirk.

"Oh, shut up."

**-8 -**

I woke the next morning on Monique's sofa. I was a little disorientated at first but after rubbing my eyes (and hissing in pain when I remembered I had a black eye) everything became clear.

"Bonne matin!" chirruped Monique as she bounced into the lounge.

"You're a morning person, aren't you?" I asked grumpily, pulling the duvet over my head again. "I hate morning people."

"Yes! The morning is the best part of the day! The sun is shining, the birds are singing…"

"…and I want to go back to sleep!"

"So, no crêpes and hot chocolate for you then?"

I peered over the edge of the duvet. "Crêpes?"

"With honey or chocolate sauce."

"Honey?" I crawled out from under the duvet and went into the kitchen where Monique was pouring honey over two plates of crêpes.

The kettle clicked off and I poured hot water into two bowls and added hot chocolate powder to both. Monique and I sat at the counter in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate from the bowls and nibbling at the honey covered crêpes.

"So, what are you up to today?" I asked when the last of the crêpes had been demolished.

"Nothing until we have to go to work later," replied Monique as she stood and carried the dishes over to the sink.

"Work? It's Saturday," I replied as I dried the dishes.

"I know, but it's opening night tonight and we need to make up for missing yesterday."

I groaned. "I thought I might be able to get out of working."

"Not a chance with Mme LaCroix around. If it was M LaCroix, you might have had a chance."

I groaned again. "What time do we start?"

"Oh, we start and finish at the same time. Although I suppose you will do your practising as usual."

"Yes, I suppose I should," I said thoughtfully. "I'll just hang around here for the rest of the day if that's ok."

"Of course. But I have to go out; I promised my family I would meet them in the city." She checked her watch. "Oh! I have to go and get ready!"

As Monique showered, I tidied up the sofa and put the duvet and pillow back into her bedroom. I dressed quickly and looked at my face in the mirror. My black eye was still a mass of red, blue and purple and I still couldn't open it. I sighed and turned away to go back into the lounge. I set up my computer again and spent the day typing out the next thirty pages of _The Devils' Child_, barely remembering to eat.

**-8 -**

When she came back again at three-thirty, we crossed the city to the opera house and did our cleaning shift. I went up to box five and peered in to see whether there was anything sitting there for me but it was completely empty. Sighing sadly, I went back down to the entrance hall and told Monique I would meet her back at her flat.

As I walked down the third corridor to the dressing room at the end where I practised, I heard a horrible screeching noise coming from one of the practise rooms. The door burst open and the leading soprano came flouncing out.

"I do not expect-a to-a be treated like thees!"

"Senora, it is one night. Surely the child deserves…"

"The child deserves-a nothink! If she seengs, then I will not!" Carla turned on her heel and stormed down the corridor, pushing past me so hard she sent me flying into the wall.

"Olé!" I called sarcastically at her retreating back.

She turned round and snarled at me over her shoulder. I heard her yell Spanish curses at various staff members as she left.

"Elvis has left the building," I mumbled to myself. I walked towards the door which she had appeared from and peered round the door. M. LaCroix was standing there looking shell-shocked. "Problems?"

He did a double take at the sight of my eye but recovered his composure quickly. "Leading ladies are such a trial," he said in perfect English.

"Yes," I said simply. "What's she bleating about this time?"

"We've just got a new singer from Scotland."

"Scotland? Ooh, the land of whisky, haggis and Robbie the Bruce. Och, aye the noo!" I said, with a slightly manic grin on my face.

"Yes." M. LaCroix looked terrified and obviously decided that the best thing to do would be to change the subject. "She has a gorgeous voice but Carla refuses to give her an audition."

"_Carla_ refuses? Surely it should be your decision."

He shrugged. "She has some very influential friends. She does have a good voice but she strains it a lot."

"She sounds like a cat in heat," I said dryly.

M. LaCroix laughed. "Do not let her hear you say that or you will be out of this theatre before you can say _au revoir_."

"No I won't," I said confidently. "She's not the only one with influential friends, M. LaCroix."

His expression sobered. "Ah, yes, I forgot. I suppose you are off to practise?"

I nodded.

"Well, don't let me keep you," he said, walking past me into the corridor.

"M. LaCroix?"

"Yes?" he said, turning to face me.

"Why is everyone so afraid of E…the phantom?"

"He has a lot of influence in this place and he has done for many years. If anything happens that goes against his orders, we have worse things to worry about than falling chandeliers."

"He hasn't killed, has he?" I asked haltingly. "I mean, Joseph Buquet was just a story wasn't he?"

"Buquet was, but another scene changer wasn't. That was unfortunate. He was snooping around where he was obviously not wanted and met a sticky end. Anyway," he said with a sweeping gesture, "we should not be talking about it. He will get angry."

"You're right," I said, beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Thank you, monsieur. I hope you sort out your problem with the diva."

"Thank you, mademoiselle. Enjoy your practise." He smiled at me and walked along the corridor. "Um, Marguerite?"

I was surprised that he had called my by my first name but hid it as I looked up at him curiously. "Yes, M LaCroix?"

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your eye?"

I put a hand to it gingerly and gave him a weak smile. "Let's just say I made someone angry when I should have known better."

"A man?" he asked.

"He's many things, monsieur," I replied evenly. "Musician, architect, scientist…phantom…"

"He did this to you?" His voice took an angry turn as he slipped into French.

"Please, monsieur," I replied easily in the same language, "don't make it out to be a big thing. It really isn't. Everything will work itself out." I turned away from him, letting my hair swing over my face before adding under my breath, "Somehow."

I went to the end of the corridor and opened the door to the dressing room. Someone had cleaned up and the piles of clutter that were normally present had gone. There was a small divan along one wall and I sat down on it to put my flute together and gather myself. M LaCroix's obvious concern was sweet but a little unnerving. I dreaded to think what Erik would do if he found out I had told the manager some of what had happened. I also hoped that Monique and Pierre would have the sense not to talk about what I had reluctantly told them in the opera house. I stood decisively and went over to the music stand where it was set up by the mirror. I put some sheet music on it and began to play.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** There was no Erik in this chapter, was there? I'm so sorry! I'll make it up to you :hands out cookies in the shape of the mask: Better?

The new soprano is Scottish in honour of Gerry :)  



	23. Confessions

**A/N:** Not so much hate mail this time… Hurray! Glad you all enjoyed my cookies :) I'm thinking about getting another tattoo (I've got one on my back already) of the mask with a rose underneath. I was going to have 'Erik' written across the top, but my fiancé (whose name is _not_ Erik) said it was either him or the tattoo. I think I might have 'Angel of Music' written there instead... **P.S.** I finished writing the review replies after a few too many beers so….sorry :-D

**Translations:**_ Les gendarmes_ are the French Police Force. _Dites-moi_ means 'tell me'.

**Kaledena:** I'm glad my phic makes a good distraction from the boringness that is the education system. Down with homework:starts a revolution:

**PhantomFreak07:** Ooh, I've never watched that. Is it any good? Apart from the hotness that is Gerry, of course. I think a lot of my student loan is going to get spent on DVDs…again. I love accents, Scottish and Irish particularly. That's why Sean Connery is my favourite James Bond.

**TwistedEveryWayForErik:** Yeah, 22 isn't my favourite chapter either. Hopefully this should make you like me again. Have some cookies to make up for it :)

**WanderingChild24:** Making up is the best part of an argument :) There's a deep underlying affection between those two that means that they will never be angry at each other for long.

**SariPunkinPie:** Ooh, you gave me ideas as well…-plots- Is my Gerry safe as well? I mean, I've got him chained to my wardrobe but one never knows when an(other) obsessed phan will turn up with chain cutters.

**PhantomFanatic:** Yeah. They are definitely very important to each other. The manager knew because Erik's been sending notes and terrorising the dancers all the time he's been haunting the opera house and the terms in the contract have been passed down from manager to manager a la Leroux. Hope you like this chapter!

**In His Darkness…**

I'd just reached the end of a Handel sonata when I heard someone cough. Normally this wouldn't have bothered me, but the cough didn't come from the door behind me, it came from my left. From the mirror. I sighed and put my flute onto the small dressing table before facing the mirror full on. "Erik, come out here."

Silence.

"I know you're there, I heard you cough."

Silence.

"Fine, be like that." Remembering what I had read in Leroux's novel, I went over to the mirror and began feeling around in the top left hand corner when it suddenly lifted up from the base and spun open.

"Sorry."

I glared at him. "That's the second time I've caught you spying on me. I don't appreciate it, Erik," I said harshly.

"I wanted to hear you play," he said sadly.

My voice softened. "You could have just asked."

"How? You don't live with me anymore."

"And whose fault is that?" I spat, suddenly angry. "Look at what you did. You and your stupid temper. Don't you dare say a word," I hissed as he threatened to interrupt. "I loved living with you, I loved it. And then you went and spoilt it by doing this." I pointed to my black eye.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking and his eyes filling with tears. "I know it means nothing but I'm sorry." He reached out a hand towards me and I flinched away, slapping his hand to one side. "You won't even let me touch you, will you?" he said hollowly.

"Can you blame me!" I yelled, barely noticing the anxious look he flicked towards the door. "You're just like him, like Mark. Hitting me one minute and then all sweetness and light the next. I kept going back to him because I thought I wouldn't be able to find anyone else but now I know better. I found you and I thought you would look after me and keep me safe," I spat accusingly, "but you're no different from him."

"I am different," he protested, looking at me pleadingly with tears spilling out of eyes filled with anguish. "It was an accident. He did it on purpose."

"But you still did it," I said quietly, my temper suddenly gone. I sat down on the divan and put my head in my trembling hands. "It brought back memories. Painful memories. Things that I want to be taken out of my head and thrown into a bottomless pit." I felt him sit down next to me and his arm went tentatively around my shoulder. I stiffened and his arm froze halfway around my back.

When he spoke, his hypnotic, musical voice was full of hope and sadness. It still retained its warm strength but there was an undercurrent of timidity there that I had never heard before. "Trust me."

Those two words were enough to make me collapse into his arms with floods of tears running down my face. I buried my face in his neck, ignoring the pain as my black eye pressed into his collar bone. My left hand clutched spasmodically at his shirt and my right arm was across my waist. Erik's left arm was wrapped tightly around my back and his right hand was running softly across my hair. "Hush, Marguerite. I'm here. I'll look after you."

I sobbed out the whole saga of my relationship with Mark, everything from the first playful slap to the final night in the hotel. Erik didn't say a word until I'd finished and was sniffling quietly.

"I see now why you were so hysterical when…when it happened," he said quietly.

I nodded. "He made me feel like no other man would look twice at me. I hardly left the house. Come to think of it, I hardly left my room. I made excuses not to see people so that other people wouldn't have to see me." Unbidden, Pierre's smiling face came into my mind. "I know that other people, other men, like me but it's still hard to comprehend sometimes."

There was a pause. "Come home, Marguerite. With me. Please."

I pulled out of the warmth of his arms and fixed my red, watery eyes on his. "No, Erik. Someday, perhaps, but not now."

His face crumpled. "Why not?" he asked childishly.

"You hit me," I said simply. "I can forgive, but I can't forget. If I go back down with you it'll all come back and I'm not strong enough to cope with it yet." I looked away from his intense gaze.

"You seem strong enough to me."

"Only on the outside. In my head and in my heart I'm weaker than a child. It's all show Erik," I said, still studying my hands that were folded in my lap. "If I didn't put on a show and force myself to stand tall and unafraid, I'd be a quivering wreck on the floor. You're not the only one who wears a mask." I met his eyes and ran my fingers over the cold white leather. I gently pulled the mask from his face and held it in my hands. "This," I continued, waving it in front of his face, "is a visible version of what I wear every single day. First thing in the morning, in the space between sleeping and waking, I am completely me. Then my brain realises that I'm awake and the mask begins to come on. By the time I'm fully awake and Monique has bounced into the lounge, it's fully in place and can't be broken." I sighed and handed him the mask. "I want to come home but not yet, Erik. Not yet."

"But you will come home?" he said desperately, clasping my hands in his. "I don't care when, just as long as you do."

"Like I said, maybe." I squeezed his hands and looked down at my watch. "Oh, hell. It's eight thirty. Monique's going to have a coronary." I jumped up and began to clean out my flute.

"Do you have to go?" he asked softly as I stuffed music into my shoulder bag.

"You know I do." I threw my flute gig bag over my shoulder and walked over to the door.

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

I turned round to find him to be standing directly behind me. I stepped back so I could gain my own personal space again but was forced to stop when my back came up against the door. "I can't, Erik. It would look weird coming here for no obvious reason. What would I tell Monique? 'I'm just off to the opera house to see the opera ghost. We're quite good friends me and him.' Yeah, that'd go down well. She already thinks I'm mental."

He nodded sadly. "What about the day after?"

"I'll be here. But no sneaking around, ok?"

"Ok." He leant forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of his cool lips against my skin. I kept them closed when he had pulled away and in those few moments I heard the swish of a cloak and a clunk as the mirror closed.

**-8 -**

"Where have you been! I was about to call _les gendarmes_!" A loud indignant squeal in a mixture of French and English met me as I staggered tiredly into the flat.

"Monique, please, I really don't need this." I flopped down onto the sofa and dabbed a tissue at my weeping bruised eye. "Anyway, I was only an hour late."

"_You_ do not need this! I was worried!" She stood in front of me, hands on hips, her blue eyes flaming just as much as her hair. "Where were you?"

"Later." I made a move to get up but she blocked my way. "Monique, let me go."

"Non! _Dites-moi_!"

"Fine!" I yelled. "I was practising and then Erik came through the mirror and we talked. Happy!"

"You are still thinking that _le fantôme_ is your landlord?" She gave a disbelieving snort. "Do not be stupid. Tell me the truth."

"I _am_ telling you the truth," I said angrily. "It's not my fault you don't believe me."

"Of course I do not believe you. Do you have any idea how stupid it sounds? Even if he did exist, he would not be alive now."

"There's a reason for that…"

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. "You have done nothing to prove it to me and still you expect me to take you at your word? Pah!"

"What do you want me to do? Take you down there? Take you to his home?" I glared at her. "Yeah right. Then you'd tell everyone and he'd have no peace. That's all he wants; peace. To compose and sing and live his life."

She watched me for a moment as if calculating something. I could almost hear the cogs whirring away. "I would not tell," she said quietly.

I gawped at her. "I'm not taking you down there. Not a chance, no, _non_, _nein_. The day I take you down there, Satan will be ice-skating to work."

Monique shrugged. "How else are you going to prove that you are not a madwoman?"

Silently I reached for my computer and turned it on. I loaded up Sibelius and opened the file for _The Devil's Child_. "Listen to this," I ordered, yanking out the headphones and pressing play. The opera music filled the room sounding slightly tinny as it came out of the small speakers. It played for about fifteen minutes and then stopped in the middle of a phrase.

"That is very good," said Monique quietly. "I did not know you were such a good composer."

"I didn't write it," I said. "I'm only typing it out for him."

"Him?"

I looked her straight in the eye. "This music is perfect, Monique. There is only one person in this world who could write such perfect music. Erik!" I said loudly to her confused expression. "But you can't mention it when we're in the opera house; it's his Christmas present."

Monique looked at me with a concerned expression. "This is the opera ghost's Christmas present? Are you sure you're ok?"

I gave her a look.

"Ok, I…I believe you," she said in the tone of voice you use when you're humouring someone.

"No you don't," I said. "Just…wait until the ball. I'll prove it to you then."

"How?"

I said the only two words I could think of; two words which had been ringing in my head since I left the opera house. "Trust me."

**-8 -**

**A/N:** Like? Let me know! I thrive on reviews and take all your comments and suggestions to heart.


	24. Merry Christmas!

**A/N:** I had a really great plot idea for a one-shot on Wednesday and I'm still in the process of writing it. However, I need your help! If Erik was around today in a modern rock-star guise, what _one_ question would you ask him? Apart from a marriage proposal of course…

Quick translation: '_Une femme trés fou_' means a very mad woman. '_Ça va_' can mean 'How are you?' or 'Fine' depending on whether it's said as a question or a statement.

**NelyGirl:** Glad you love it!

**The Cure:** Thanks for the comments :) Please don't cry though!

**SariPunkinPie:** I was going to say bed but, you know…-gestures to left ring finger- I think I need to make a visit to HMV soon and buy lots of DVDs.

**PhantomFanatic:** Comparing her life to a mask was easier to write than it probably should have been… This chapter's not so depressing so I hope you enjoy it :)

**Des Iries:** Yay! Thank you! I don't remember you reviewing before so have some cookies –hands over mask shaped cookies- Enjoy!

**Kaledena:** Tut, tut. Reading phanfic at school! I'd never dream of doing such a thing -looks shifty- Heehee. Enjoy the chapter!

**WanderingChild24:** Yes, you do say that a lot :) Doesn't matter to me, I'm just glad I can evoke sympathy.

**Ellardis Merithdire:** Yes, sorry for being mean to Erik. The ball is coming up very soon. Promise!

**HisInspiration:** I always figured that Erik would be a good shoulder to cry on. I mean, he's had such a rough life that he'd have probably experienced something similar. Ok, I must stop talking as if he exists.

**In His Darkness…**

Three weeks later, my black eye had almost fully healed and I was thoroughly in the Christmas spirit._ The Devil's Child_ was almost complete and I had only five more pages to type out. I'd seen Erik everyday that I had worked; he came and listened to me practise, pointing out the odd duff note and correcting my posture. When he put his hands on my waist to check my breathing technique and touched my chin to raise my head, shivers went down my spine that I'd never felt before. I was starting to worry about my feelings. A love life was neither what I needed, nor what I was looking for.

Monique had been giving me dancing lessons and, after many trodden toes, I was fairly competent at the waltz. I'd sent Christmas cards and presents back to England and had received a large box containing presents from my parents and other family members. I'd put up my Christmas cards around Monique's lounge and all of our presents were under the Christmas tree in the corner.

"Only two days to go!" Monique chirruped happily as she bounced into the room to wake me up.

"Always with the chirpiness," I grumbled, hiding under the duvet.

"It is nearly Christmas!"

"It is early in the morning!" I retorted irritably. "Go away."

"It is ten fifteen. Pierre will be here in fifteen minutes so get up!"

"What!" I flung the duvet off my head "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did."

"I meant when I was awake!" I grabbed some clean clothes and went to Monique's bedroom to dress. I was brushing my hair out when I heard the buzzer and a few moments later there was a new voice in Monique's lounge. I went out and greeted Pierre with a smile. "Salut!"

"Salut," he replied with a smile. "Ça va?"

"Ça va." I flopped down onto the sofa next to him and turned my computer on to try and finish typing out the Erik's opera.

"Are you still working on that?"

"There are only a few pages left," I said defensively as the program loaded. "What are you two up to today?"

"I have to go over to my parents' house," said Monique. "You are still coming to Christmas dinner, aren't you?"

"Yes," I replied, absorbed in finishing the oboe part.

"I offered to keep you company," said Pierre. "It must be lonely on your own so close to Christmas."

"I'm not alone," I said, dragging my eyes away from the screen. "I have you guys." I gave them a big smile before turning back to the computer in front of me.

I vaguely heard Monique call a goodbye a few minutes later but was so engrossed in the bassoon part the only reply she received was an inarticulate grunt. I worked at the score for a few hours, chatting half-heartedly with Pierre and listening to the terrible French daytime television. The amiable silence was broken by an excited squeal. "Finished!"

"You have finished?"

"Yes!" I jumped up and did a victory dance. I grabbed Pierre's hands and dragged him up to join me. "Finished!" I squealed again and threw my arms around his neck.

When I had danced myself out, I flopped back onto the sofa, pulled out the headphones and hit play. Pierre and I sat and listened to the opera for two hours. By the time it had finished, I was sniffling sadly and he had put his arm round me. I leant over and saved the file again before extracting the separate parts into their own file. I stood up and fetched Monique's printer, lots of extra paper and a spare ink cartridge. After connecting the computer and printer, I left the score and parts to print as I made some lunch for Pierre and myself. We watched the printer do its work as we ate, adding more paper every so often. I was forced to change the ink cartridge before printing out the separate parts.

When the printer had finished, I punched holes through the left hand side of the score and tied the pages together with black silk ribbon that I had bought especially for the purpose. Each separate part was put into order and stacked on top of the score. I picked up the flute/piccolo part and rested it on my lap. I reached down to the side of the sofa and picked up my flute and piccolo and unpacked them. "I've been wanting to do this for ages," I moaned, raising my flute to my lips.

Forty-five minutes later, I had finished my run through of the part and was slumped back onto the sofa with a contented half smile on my face. "That was goooood," I drawled.

"Yes, very nice," said Pierre in English. "Although I do not like the _petite flûte_ very much."

"No-one does," I laughed. "Not even the people who play it. There's an old joke; how do you get two piccoloists to play in tune?"

"I do not know."

"Shoot one."

There was a pause as Pierre mentally translated what I had just said before he burst out laughing and said in French, "You are a true musician to be able to make fun of yourself."

I grinned. "You want to hear the rest of my musician jokes," I told him as the front door opened.

"Maybe later," said Monique.

We turned to look at her and smiled in greeting. "Good day?" I asked.

"Mothers," she replied grumpily, dumping her bags on the lounge floor.

"I know the feeling," I muttered. "Hey, guess what? I finished the opera! _The Devil's Child_ is ready to be performed."

Her face lit up. "Fantastic!" She gave me a hug and then looked at me suspiciously. "You are still going to give it to the opera ghost."

"Of course!" I said, surprised. "It's his Christmas present."

"You are very strange," said Pierre shaking his head and edging away from me slightly.

"I know."

**-8 -**

I spent Christmas Day at Monique's parents' house. It was nice to be surrounded by a big, happy, laughing family again, and the food was amazing. After we ate, we opened presents. Monique was thrilled with the new ballet slippers Pierre and I had bought her, and I loved the new t-shirt she had bought me. It had 'Prima Donna' scrawled across it in pink writing, the dot of the 'i' was a silver jewel and the 'o' was the phantom mask. My parents had bought me a new watch and some CDs, as well as sending over a pile of cash. Pierre had bought me the _Phantasia_ suite on CD and I squealed loudly when I opened it, promising myself that I would give him a huge hug the next time I saw him.

In the evening, I made my excuses to Monique and her family and went back to Monique's flat to collect the newly wrapped opera score and the gift that Erik had left in the chapel. I travelled across the city and found the opera house in complete darkness, just as I had expected. However, this was not a problem and I made my way through the chapel and down the passageway to the cavern for the first time in almost a month. I pushed open the door at the end of the passage and looked around. "Erik?" I called softly.

His head appeared from the door to the lounge. "What are you doing here?" he asked in English.

"What do you think I'm doing?" I replied, waving the presents. "_Joyeux Noël_!" I walked towards him and went into the lounge. A fire was glowing in the grate and a book was laying face down on the coffee table. _That's new_, I thought, taking in the rug in front of the fireplace. I dropped Erik's gift onto his chair and sat down in the other, cradling my own gift. I looked up at him where he was still standing in the doorway. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to open it?"

He didn't move.

"I'm not going to scream and run away if you come within three feet of me, Erik," I sighed exasperatedly. "You should have realised that by now."

He walked unsurely over to the chair and picked up his gift. "No-one's ever given me a present before."

"Well, I hope it makes a good first-ever present," I said. "Open it!" I was practically bouncing up and down in my chair with excitement.

He smiled at my excitement and carefully unwrapped the gift as if it was made of the finest spun glass. When the layers of wrapping paper had been removed and he could see the front page of the score, his eyes widened and he looked up at me with a huge smile on his face. "How…What…How…"

I grinned at him. "I take it you're pleasantly surprised."

"It's fantastic." He picked up the heavy bundle of pages and flicked through them. "How did you get hold of the original? The last time I checked, it was still in the leather case in the music room."

"It probably is," I agreed. "But the photocopy I did last month is in my computer case."

His head jerked up and he fixed me with a look. "That was sneaky."

"I learnt from the best," I shrugged. "Can I open my gift now?"

"Of course."

I attacked the layers of wrapping paper with a vengeance. By the time I had reached the box, I was surrounded by shredded wrapping paper and Erik was watching me with an amused expression. I lifted the lid and gasped. Folded neatly inside was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. I stood up and pulled the dress out of the box so I could inspect it.

It was made of cream coloured silk with a scooped neckline that swept across the shoulders. A layer of lace hung across the shoulder and neck and was decorated with gold flowers along the lower edge. The bodice pulled in at the waist so it would accentuate my figure and the skirt just skimmed the floor. It was covered in more layers of lace with the same decoration.

I looked over the dress at Erik, my eyes wide. "It's beautiful," I said hoarsely. "I don't deserve it."

"You do," he said levelly.

"When would I wear it?"

"Look in the box."

I laid the dress carefully on the chair and picked up the box from where it had fallen to the floor. Rummaging through the tissue paper, I found a dark brown curly wig and a cream coloured mask with gold flowers around the edge. I grinned up at Erik. "It's for the masked ball, isn't it?"

He smiled and nodded. "I know you wanted to go."

I squealed madly, dropped the wig and mask onto the dress and flew across the room towards Erik. I jumped onto his lap, making him give an 'oof' sound, and threw my arms around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I tore off the mask and covered his face with kisses.

He laughed and held me back so he could talk. "I take it we're friends again?"

"Forever," I said, pulling him into another hug. I grinned into his shoulder as I felt his strong arms wrap around my back and sighed happily.

"Do you want to try your dress on?" he asked after a few moments, his voice muffled by my hair.

"Sorry, am I squashing you?" I replied, pulling back from the hug.

"No, I just want to see what you look like."

I grinned cheekily. "You'll have to wait until the ball."

"Hmph."

We sat in companionable silence broken only by the crackling of the fire. It was warm and comfortable sitting in the lounge, and I almost forgot I was sitting in Erik's lap until he shifted in his seat and began playing absent-mindedly with the ends of my hair. "Mmph," I mumbled, sitting up. "I'm falling asleep. I need to go back to Monique's." I made a move to get up and felt his arms tighten round me.

"Stay."

"I need to go home."

"Just for tonight." He looked at me pleadingly. "It's Christmas!"

"That's seasonal blackmail."

"Did it work?"

I sighed and looked at him through bleary eyes. "Yes."

He smirked.

"I have to go and tell Monique where I am, though. Not exactly where I am," I continued to his aghast expression, "just sort of where I am. I'll go and phone her from the office." I wriggled out of his arms and stood up. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

**-8 -**

Half an hour later, I returned to the cavern not in the best of moods. I'd just listened to Monique freak out at me over the phone and had eventually lost patience and hung up on her. I stomped back into the lounge grumbling under my breath. Erik was still seated in the chair where I had left him but was reading a thin book I didn't recognise. "What did she say?"

"She said I was _une femme tres fou_." I went over to the dress and held it up again just to look at it. "God, this is beautiful. Where did you get it?"

"That would be telling. Come and sit down again."

"'Kay." I laid the dress down over the chair carefully and went over to the fireplace where I sat down on the new rug. I stretched my legs out and leant back on my elbows enjoying the warmth of the fire.

"Comfortable?"

"Very." I looked up at him with a smile. "What are you reading?"

"_The Count of Monte Cristo_."

"Ooh, Alexandre Dumas. I've never read that. Is it any good?"

"Yes, it's one of my favourites."

"Would you read some to me?" I asked shyly. "I don't mind if you're halfway through."

"It's in older French."

I shrugged. "If I get confused, I'll ask you. Just read quite slowly."

"_D'accord_."

The simple French word sent shivers down my spine. If he could make the phrase, 'I understand' sound warm and musical, I dreaded to think what effect him reading a whole book to me would have.

He came and joined me on the rug and as he began to read, I closed my eyes to fully enjoy the sound of the words. After a few paragraphs, I realised that even with my fairly decent French, I was going to struggle to understand. I didn't want to stop him to ask for a translation; the French words rolled off his tongue like a stream tumbling over pebbles. I lay down on my side with my head resting on his knee and listened to his smooth tenor. The hand that wasn't holding the book came to rest on my shoulder and I felt him twist a stray lock of my hair idly round his finger.

I can't remember how long Erik read for; all I remember is the warmth of the fire, the comforting sound of his beautiful voice and the gentle tug of his fingers against my hair. The next thing I knew, it was morning.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** The present that she receives from Erik is based on a real picture! Of course, you wouldn't be able to buy it unless you have a few thousand pounds going spare and manage to persuade the Queen. No, seriously. A picture can be found here:

_www . telegraph . co . uk/news/graphics/2005/07/27/nward27 . jpg_

or go here:

_www . telegraph . co . uk/news/graphics/2005/07/27/nward27 . xml_

for the full article (without the spaces…obviously). It's the one in the lower left hand corner. The other gifts are also real objects. You can find them here:

_www . reallyusefulgroup . com/rug/shop_

Also, I've never had a black eye so I'm not sure how long they take to heal.


	25. Where have you been!

**A/N: **Hmmm, this one's rather short I'm afraid. Much apologies to you guys! Anyway, I'm watching _Phantom_ at the moment and it's time for _Don Juan_. And yes, I do realise it's 1.45am here. I'm a student, I can handle it...--zonks out-- I would just like you all to know that I've written the final chapters of _IHD_. I just have to write the chapters between here and there now...argh...

In France, the day after Christmas Day _isn't_ a public holiday. Poor French people.

**HisInspiration:** Heehee, Christmas. The dress is absolutely gorgeous. I guess the royal family do have some taste…

**WanderingChild24:** In love? Maybe…maybe not…

**TwistedEveryWayForErik:** Heehee, glad you like. Thanks for the review of _1000 Talents_ as well. I've got a few ideas for a sequel.

**SariPunkinPie:** Awww thanks. Here's the next chapter!

**PhantomFreak07:** I haven't actually read the _Count of Monte Cristo_ but I watched the movie. Doesn't really count, I know… I quite like Dumas' stuff. I've read _The Man in the Iron Mask_ and _The Three Musketeers_ and loved them. Scottish accents aren't really a problem for me-my first flute teacher was from Glasgow and had the thickest accent ever. Not long until the ball now…

**Bonus cookies to the person who finds the shoeboxproject reference!

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**

**In His Darkness…**

When I woke, I wondered why Monique's sofa had transformed itself into a rug on a stone floor and how my pillow had turned into a knee. I wriggled round so I was lying on my back and rubbed my arm to try and get some feeling back into it.

"You sleep like the dead." The warm French tenor made me smile sleepily.

"So I've been told." I looked up at Erik. "You could have woken me up, you know."

"I didn't want to disturb you; you looked so peaceful."

"I didn't snore, did I?"

"You breathe heavily, remember? And yes. It's endearing," he said, as I buried my face in his knee in embarrassment.

"Iff imbarrffin."

"I'm sorry, Marguerite, I don't speak pathetic bas…"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. I may have to kill you," I said, lifting my head up and resting my chin on his knee. "I said, it's embarrassing." I struggled into a sitting position and leant against the armchair. "How did you sleep?"

"I didn't."

"You what? Why not?"

"You try sleeping when you're sitting up against a hard chair on a stone floor."

"I said you could have woken me."

"And _I_ said I didn't want to."

We glared at each other until the moment was broken by Erik yawning so hugely, his face split in two. "You need to sleep," I said patting his knee and standing up, "and I need to get back to Monique. She's already thrown a major wobbly at me." I went over to the dress where it was still draped over the chair and carefully folded it back into the box, laying the wig and mask on top.

"Do you have to go?" His voice was soft and hopeful.

"Stop it," I said warningly. "No more seasonal blackmail until Easter."

"What about regular blackmail?"

"That's never allowed."

"Damn."

I tucked the box under my arm and turned to look at him. "What are you doing today?"

"The usual," he replied, easing himself to his feet and brushing dust from his clothes. "I thought I'd lurk in my underground lair, play some music, lurk some more and then, to break up the lurking, I thought I'd go and frighten some of the dancers."

"It's Boxing Day. The theatre will be closed."

"What?"

"The day after Christmas is a public holiday. Isn't it?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Why do you call it 'Boxing Day'? Do you get together with your family and have a fight or something?"

"I'm not sure why," I said, ignoring his sarcasm. "In my house it's known as recover-from-over-indulgence day."

"You English have some strange traditions."

"And you French eat horsemeat and frogs."

"_Touché_."

I gave a mock bow and smiled at him brightly. "Right, I'm off." I turned to leave but found my way blocked. "Oh, Nadir. Sorry, I was just leaving."

"It's M. Khan," he replied bitingly. "And there is no need to apologise."

"O…k…" I shot him a confused look but he merely pushed past me and began talking to Erik in quick, hushed French. I turned to say goodbye at Erik but he was deep in conversation with Na…M. Khan. I slipped out quietly without either of them noticing.

**-8 -**

It was a pity my stay with Erik had been spoilt by M. Khan's untimely appearance. Even more trouble was waiting for me when I got back to Monique's flat.

"_WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!_" Two angry voices in unison greeted me as I walked through the door. In English. I was in serious trouble.

"Hello to you too," I replied, brushing past Monique and Pierre to tuck the box under the sofa.

"_WELL?_"

"Could you talk a bit quieter, please? Your parents plied me with a lot of wine yesterday." I flopped down on the sofa and flicked on the TV. Secretly, I was enjoying acting so indifferent to their indignant outburst. Wouldn't you?

"Where the hell were you!" yelled Monique. "And how dare you hang up on me like that! I thought something terrible had happened!"

"Oh, pfft," I sad, waving my hand airily. "I can look after myself."

"Do you not remember the black eye you had only a few weeks ago! Because I do."

"Monique," I said patiently, "that is all in the past. We have resolved our differences."

"_ARGH!_ Where were you!"

"Were you with a man?" asked Pierre quietly in French.

"Yes," I replied honestly, "but not in the way you're thinking."

"You were with him, weren't you? The man you think is the phantom."

I couldn't be bothered to argue the point so I simply said, "Yes."

He sat down on the sofa next to me with a shaky sigh. "You must be careful, Marguerite. You could get into all sorts of trouble."

"I sincerely hope you're not going to start giving me the birds-and-the-bees talk," I said dryly. "I got that when I was twelve."

"I am serious, Marguerite," he said, switching back to English for emphasis and staring at me, his black eyes glistening. "I worry about you."

"Oh, Pierre." I took his hand and smiled gently. "You have nothing to worry about. He and I are just friends. Close friends. You're the only one for me," I added playfully.

"It is not that," he insisted. "I don't like the idea of this man having you so under his control that you cannot get out. It is like _l'hypnose_."

"It is nothing like hypnosis," I said sharply, pulling my hand away and fixing him with an angry glare.

"Then prove it," said Monique.

I jumped, forgetting she was there. "How?"

"Do not see him for a month."

"If I was going to do that, I wouldn't be able to go to work."

She shrugged. "The Christmas season is over. We do not have to go."

I sighed, seeing no way to get out of this. "A month? What about the ball? I know he'll be there."

"If he is there, then you must avoid him. You have to show us that you are not under this man's spell."

"Spell?" I looked around at them stunned. "He's not a magician, nor a hypnotist. He. Is. A. Man. A normal, regular man."

"Who just happens to believe that he is the phantom of the opera and possess the power to make you believe it too," said Pierre.

I paused, thinking about just how insane it sounded. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"Marguerite," said Monique, coming to sit the other side of me, "he will make you his Christine." She took my hand and her blue eyes filled with worry. "He will take you away and try to…to…well, I do not want to think about it. He will make you his obsession, his every waking thought. He will not rest until he has you forever."

"My God," I said disgustedly, snatching my hand away and looking at them both with contempt. "Can you hear what you're saying? He is not a monster. You don't understand, you could never understand. You don't know what it's like; living down there with only the rats and that glorified security guard for occasional company." I stood up and fixed them both with a fierce glare, hands on hips and ready for a row. "He isn't a monster," I repeated, "not in the slightest. You two have no idea. You don't know him. I do. I know you think I'm mad but I don't care. You don't believe me and that's fine. You can shut me away in a madhouse but I know the truth. He's not like in the stories. He's honest and kind and the best friend you could ever have. He's so intuitive. He knows when I want to be left alone, he knows when I want to talk and, get this, Monique-" I pointed my finger at her "-he knows when to ply me with chocolate and painkillers and run in the other direction. He has amazing instincts and they're so finely tuned that he can smell a rant like this from a mile off. That way, he knows not to bug me. Something which you two need to work on."

I began to leave, but whirled on them as a thought struck me. "You know what? I accept your challenge. Consider the gauntlet thoroughly picked up. I will pass a whole month without seeing Erik-" _except at the ball_, I added silently, "-and you will see that he is not some sort of hypnotist."

My rant finished, I glared at them both for a moment longer before stomping into Monique's room and slamming the door behind me. It's very hard to storm off in a four room flat. Nothing could calm me. I punched the pillows, threw books at the wall and tried to listen to calming music. Nothing helped, not even _Music of the Night_. In the end I took a deep breath and yelled various English obscenities at nothing in particular before collapsing onto the bed in floods of exhausted, angry tears.

A month. How hard could that be?

**-8 -

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**A/N:** I've put up a one-shot called _1000 Talents_. It was one of those ideas that had to be written down. Please go read it and tell me what you think :)

Also, if you're a _Harry Potter_ fan and haven't read The Shoebox Project, go read it now! This work of comic genius can be found at:

_www . livejournal . com/community/shoeboxproject_

I've just found out how many people are reading this-432 hits for chapter one, down to 48 for chapter 24. It's...rather depressing, actually so thank you to all of you for sticking with me and giving my writing a chance.


	26. The Masked Ball

**A/N:** Monique's dress is real but it was from last season and the website has removed the pictures. The shop is _www . monsoon . co . uk_ The _Phantom_ quote and page number is from the hardback edition published by Doubleday. I've also just discovered that I've been missing out an accent on the words _bal masque_. It should be pronounced bal (with a short 'a' rather than a long 'ay') mask-ay. Sorry about that.

**SophiAngelie:** --hands over welcoming cookies-- Wow, someone from Europe :) Dreaming about my characters, huh? Well, at least they seem real! And don't worry-your English is better than mine. Here's the next chapter.

**PhantomFreak07:** Cameos…hmmm, I like the idea but since I've already written the chapter, I don't think I will. Maybe in another fic…:) My housemate's an English student and I think she's got _The Count of Monte Cristo_ so I might steal it from her. And here's the long awaited ball! Enjoy!

**NelyGirl:** No probs. I enjoy reading other peoples' rants-makes me feel less guilty about my own :) And thanks for all the compliments-I'm blushing and grinning inanely (and getting funny looks from my housemates…)

**SariPunkinPie:** It's time for the ball! And there is snogging involved…it just might not be between who you want it to be. Thanks for the review of _1000 Talents_ as well. I've got a few ideas for it but anything else might be a while since my muse doesn't like being forced.

**TwistedEveryWayForErik:** Thanks! Here's the next chapter!

**WanderingChild24:** No-one could handle not seeing Erik for a month (I know I couldn't). Here's the update :)

**Kaledena:** I found my original plot idea a few weeks ago. It's mad how much the fic differs from the original idea! As for the chocolate thing…erm…Look over there! --runs away before her clever distraction is found to be fake--

**In His Darkness…**

Five days later I was going crazy. Not seeing Erik out of choice was one thing; being 'forbidden' to see him was another. I had no idea what he was thinking or doing. I hadn't even had a chance to send him a note and let him know what the hell was going on. It was the day of the masked ball and I was still mad at Monique and Pierre. I hadn't spoken to Pierre since the day after Christmas, and had only exchanged cursory words with Monique when necessary.

"Are you still angry with me?"

I shot her a death glare and turned back to my book.

"Are you coming to the ball tonight?"

"You know what? I don't think I will," I said. "I'd prefer to be with friends." I gestured with the book and began to read again.

"Very well. I will tell Pierre." She sounded close to tears but I forced myself to act indifferent.

The door buzzer sounded and she went to answer it. I could hear her speaking to the person in the hall and then the sound of the door closing. "For you." She dropped a large box onto my stomach and went to her room.

I folded down the corner of the page I was on and opened the box. On top of a piece of fabric and some sort of mesh was a note and a rose tied with a black ribbon. I smiled and tucked the rose into my hair before reading the note.

_My dear,_

_I did not think this would be appropriate as part of a Christmas present. However, these things are vital for the wearing of the dress. There is something else which will hopefully placate you…_

_I will be there this evening. I will come as myself._

_Yours,_

_O.G._

He was going as himself. I smirked; a Christine and a phantom. What a pair. I shoved the note into my pocket and lifted the mesh out of the box. It folded itself out into a skirt shape with a type of belt to hold it around the waist. I groaned. I had seen a picture of a crinoline before. It was a lightweight garment used to give volume to skirts without the many layers of netting and petticoats. If I had a crinoline, I had a good idea what the other piece of fabric was. I pulled it out of the box and groaned loudly. The corset was plain white and, as I studied it, I realised that I would not need Monique to help me fasten it. It fastened in the front with fifteen hooks-and-eyes and could be adjusted by choosing which of the eyes to attach the hooks.

There was a small velvet box at the bottom. I opened it and gasped in delight. Inside was a gold necklace with a golden teardrop pendant. There was a pearl in the centre of the pendant surrounded by seven tiny diamonds. There was also a pair of matching earrings.

I smirked as I packed the fabric back into the box. Tonight was going to be fun.

**-8 -**

Monique and Pierre left at seven thirty. They had tried to persuade me to go but I had knocked them back with some scathing comment and begun to read again. They looked fabulous in their costumes, Pierre in a midnight blue tuxedo with a full mask in the same colour decorated with silver stars and Monique in a floor length flame-red dress that, along with her fiery hair and fire-orange mask, turned her into a seraph.

The moment they left, I rushed to the window and watched their taxi pull out onto the street to make sure they had gone. I showered and dried my hair before starting on the corset. It was hard to hold in place as I did it up but I managed. I pulled in the corset until it was firm but not constricting and I could still breathe. I put on the crinoline and fastened it around my waist before putting the petticoat over the top. I pulled the dress over my head and, with a slight struggle, zipped it up. I sat in front of the mirror and applied some neutral makeup, just enough to enhance my features, and clipped the necklace around my neck. I slid the earrings through my ears and picked up the wig. I'd already tied my hair back in a high knot so the wig slipped on easily. To make sure it stayed in place, I slid some kirby grips around the edges into my real hair. Looking into the mirror, I was stunned at the transformation. The wig was darker than my natural colour and made my complexion seem so much fairer. I liked the change and, as I slipped the mask over my face, was sure that no-one would recognise me. Standing in front of Monique's full length mirror, I smiled smugly at my reflection. I spritzed on some perfume as the door buzzer went. I slid on my cream sandals, grabbed my matching bag and went to greet the taxi I had booked that afternoon.

I arrived at the opera house at nine pm and the ballroom dancing was in full swing. People were milling around, chatting and dancing so no-one noticed as I slipped in without handing an invitation to the doorman. I recognised Monique and Pierre, and correctly guessed that the man they were with was Florent.

I stood in the crowds, watching. Just watching and waiting. Pierre had been accosted by hoards of girls clamouring for a dance. Monique was firmly glued to Florent and looked as though she was thoroughly enjoying it. I thought I'd be able to pick Erik out in the crowd (_I will go as myself_) but everywhere I looked there were tall black-haired men in white half masks. _This is getting bloody ridiculous_, I thought as a group of four phantoms walked past. I swept over to the drinks table, ignoring the glances which I knew I was getting, and poured another glass of wine. I downed half the glass in one gulp and turned to survey the crowd.

Scowling, I began to make my way across the crowded room when I was bumped into by a woman with long black hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a form-fitting ruby red dress and matching mask with golden jewels. "Ow! Watch it!" I snapped, forgetting to speak in French.

Her head snapped round. "Oh, thank goodness! Someone who speaks English!" she exclaimed in a thick Scottish accent.

"Well, being English gives me a slight advantage," I replied dryly.

She grabbed my arm as I turned to leave. "Wait! Don't leave me! I need someone to talk to who can understand me."

"Look, no offence, but I'm not in a good mood at the moment so would you mind sodding off?" I snatched my arm away and stalked off, coming to stand next to a marble column. I knew exactly who the woman was. She was the new soprano that Carla hated. However, I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone since Erik still hadn't arrived.

"You certainly have a knack for making friends."

"What can I say? It's a life skill." I turned in the direction of the voice but saw no-one. "Erik, where are you?"

"That would be telling." The voice was on my left now.

"Well, I suppose I'd better find someone to dance with if you're not going to oblige." I took a step away from the column but was stopped by a black-gloved hand on my elbow. I turned to face him and gasped.

It was Red Death, tall, strong and proud. His rich crimson cloak swept out behind him in a sea of velvet. Under the cloak was a suit of form-fitting trousers and jacket made of the richest crimson cloth adorned with gold braid and buttons. On his feet were black boots that came half way up his lower legs. They were laced with black laces and had gold buckles on the toes. A rapier with a skull hand-guard was sheathed in its black scabbard at his waist. His thick black hair was swept neatly back and the upper half of his face was covered by a skull mask. His golden-brown eyes captured mine as his gloved hand raised my own bare one to his lips. "Bonsoir, mademoiselle."

I couldn't speak. My mouth was dry and every word I wanted to say (_You look so good but so scary, please ask me to dance, don't go away_) stuck in my throat. "You…said you were coming as yourself," I finally squeaked.

"Susan Kay, page 380. 'Everyone else is masquerading, but I…I have come as myself!' Surely you remember," he replied with a small smirk.

"It…must have slipped my mind," I stammered. "You look…amazing."

"As do you." He took a small step back and studied my outfit appreciatively in a single sweeping gaze. "It fits perfectly," he added as I struggled to control my breathing.

"That would be thanks to the corset," I replied. "That was mean of you, although the necklace and earrings make up for it."

"Good." His eyes traced the path of the necklace down to where the pendant nestled just above my décolletage.

I followed the direction of his gaze before snapping my head back up to look at him. "Erik, what are you looking at?"

He looked up into my face before replying, "Nothing," in a voice that was slightly higher than normal.

"Liar," I said lightly.

He was saved from replying (something which both of us were grateful for) by the announcer. "Mesdames et Messieurs, prendrez votre cavaliers pour la dernier danse!" (Ladies and Gentlemen, take your partners for the last dance!)

Erik held out his hand to me as the band struck up a waltz. "May I have the honour?"

I merely smiled and took his hand as he led me onto the dance floor. As we made our way through the crowd, which had parted like the Red Sea, I heard the words 'Daaé…le mort rouge…fantôme' from various people. I grinned inwardly, my face the picture of calm. _If only they knew!_

Erik took me in his arms and we began to dance. I let myself be led freely around the room, always holding his gaze. As we danced, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that people moved well out of our way as we passed and the crowd around the dance floor was watching us.

Two pairs of eyes stood out at me as I tore my own away from Erik's for a brief moment. Monique and Pierre were staring at us and even at a distance I could see they looked terrified.

I snapped my eyes back to Erik's. He was still watching my face intently and I nearly melted under his gaze. When the music ended, he bowed deeply and I curtsied as a round of applause rang out for the musicians. As the dance floor cleared, Erik said in a whisper, "Meet me at the centre of the dance floor at midnight."

"Midnight? But that's…"

"Do not speak to anyone for the rest of the night," he interrupted. "And do _not_ remove your mask. If anyone asks who I am say, 'my master, the Red Death'."

"Why?"

"You'll see." He raised my hand to his lips and was gone in a whirl of crimson.

_What's he planning now?_ I thought as the dance floor filled again and some awful pounding music filled the air.

I went to the side of the room and stood in the crowd. Nearby, a small group of people were whispering and pointing at me. I ignored them. Eventually, a blond man in a Zorro costume approached me. "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle?"

I looked at him expectantly.

"Avec qui est-il l'homme que vous dansiez?" (Who is the man you were dancing with?")

"Mon maître, le Mort Rouge," I replied quietly, forcing my voice to the bottom of its range.

"Votre maître?"

I nodded.

"Qui êtes vous?"

I smiled slowly, turned on my heel and walked away through the crowd. _Very mysterious_, I congratulated myself.

For the rest of the evening, I told everyone who asked that the man I had danced with was my master, and said nothing else. It was hard to keep my promise to Erik when the Scottish woman came up to me.

"So, who was that gorgeous man you were dancing with?"

"My master, the Red Death."

"Oh, come on," she snorted. "You have to give me more than that."

I watched her silently.

"Ok, fine. So, who are you?"

I smiled slowly and took a step away from her.

"Och, no you don't, missy." She grabbed hold of my arm and held on tight. "You've been doing this all evening. I want some answers."

Her loud voice had drawn a crowd and among them I could see Monique and Pierre. They were watching intently along with everyone else.

"Well?" said the woman. "I know you can speak and I know you understand English. You _are_ English, you told me so earlier."

I chanced a peek at Monique and Pierre. They were exchanging confused glances. Pierre looked at my face closely and our eyes met. I could see a light dawning in his face. _Oh crap_. The woman's grip on my arm had loosened and in one quick movement, I snatched my arm away and pushed through the crowd.

_Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap…_ The word, along with others a lot riper, ran through my head as I walked quickly to a side room where a buffet had been set out. Most of the food had gone but there were still a few people sitting at the tables. I leant against the wall next to a window to catch my breath and calm my nerves.

"Nicely handled."

"Erik, what the hell…" I hissed out of the corner of my mouth.

"Ah, ah, ah. The no talking thing applies to when you're speaking to me as well. Or rather, not speaking to me."

I scowled furiously, grabbed a napkin and pulled my eyeliner out of my bag. 'EXPLAIN!' I scrawled quickly.

"Be patient," he chuckled. "Meet me at midnight. One more thing, whatever I say and do, you are not to look surprised, ok?"

'So, be a robot?' I wrote.

"If you so desire."

'I desire to punch you.' I drew a quick picture of a stick man with a mallet over his head.

"Trust me." There was a faint swish and he was gone.

I shoved my eyeliner back into my bag and slammed the napkin down onto the table, knocking over a glass of punch as I did so, and stormed out into the main hall.

**-8 -**

At midnight, my mood had improved enough so that I could enjoy myself. I was dancing happily with Pierre, who definitely suspected who I was but still kept throwing annoyed glances over to where Monique and Florent were dancing.

"Mesdames et messieurs, c'est minuit! Démasquez! Démasquez!" called the announcer. (Ladies and Gentlemen, it is midnight! Unmask! Unmask!)

All around me, people were removing masks, talking and laughing. Some people were sharing a New Years kiss. Beside me, Pierre had removed his own mask and was looking at me eagerly. _Oh, crap. Erik, where _are_ you?_

My attention was distracted from Erik's absentness by Monique pelting through the crowd towards us. She skidded to a halt in front of Pierre, who grabbed her around the waist to stop her falling over. "Florent is a fool," she announced. He voice softened as she looked into Pierre's face. "And so am I."

I took a few steps backwards away from the two of them as Monique pulled Pierre's face down to hers and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Pierre was stunned for just a moment before he wrapped his arms around her waist and began kissing her back. I resisted the urge to squeal with delight and turned away to scan the crowd for Erik.

Then he was there, beside me, his hand at my elbow, leading me away through the crowd to the centre of the dance floor. A backward glance at Monique and Pierre showed me that neither had noticed as they were still very busy.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the announcer's voice (in French), "two people have not unmasked! Come now, show us who you are." The crowd went quiet and all eyes turned to face us.

"Monsieur, I do not think that I need to remove my mask for you to realise who I am," replied Erik. He drew his rapier and the crowd around us gasped and drew back amid whispers of _fantôme_.

I struggled to keep my face calm as my mind screamed, _Erik, what are you doing?_

"I have a few things I wish to say. First, to my managers," he whirled on M and Mme LaCroix. "I must congratulate you on a marvellous evening. We have enjoyed ourselves, haven't we my dear?"

I nodded. _Erik, I am going to kill you_.

"Expect a message from me in the New Year. I have plans for this opera house, believe me. Now, Madame," he turned to Carla, the lead soprano, "your voice has been compared to a cat in heat. However, I am inclined to disagree."

Carla smirked.

"A cat would sound much better. If you wish to remain on this stage, you would do better than to strut around like a peacock and concentrate on improving your voice. I daresay you would be ready for the chorus in a few years time."

She looked stunned. I tried not to burst into laughter.

Carla's husband stepped forward. "Now, see here…"

Erik pressed the tip of his rapier into the man's paunch. "You would do better to remain silent, sir. If you know what is good for you." His tone was level but lightly threatening.

The man stepped back into the crowd.

"But where is our new arrival?" He stood in the centre of the room and surveyed the crowd slowly. "Aha." He fixed his gaze on the Scottish woman. "Your name, mademoiselle?"

"Christine. Christine Greer," she replied in a trembling voice.

_Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me_, I thought.

"Christine…" he said slowly. "A beautiful name. You will make a welcome addition to our company. However if you persist in annoying and manhandling my companion-"

My eyes widened slightly and chanced a look in Erik's direction. _Companion!_

"-I shall not be best pleased and your time here will be short…but not sweet."

"I…apologise. I meant no offence," she stuttered.

Erik flicked his eyes at me.

"You are forgiven," I said, in the same low voice I had used all evening. "Although you must bear in mind what my master has said. These are not empty threats."

She gulped.

"And finally," said Erik, raising his voice and gesturing with the tip of his rapier, "to those of you who are under the impression that I am a myth, I assure you that I am not. The opera ghost does not make empty threats, nor does he refrain from carrying them out. Heed my words." His intense gaze swept over the crowd, silencing the flurry of whispers.

He sheathed his rapier and held out his hand to me. "My dear, I believe we should be getting home."

_Home!_ my mind screamed. _I'm going home!_

"Yes, master," I said calmly, taking his handing next to him. "Our fondest farewells, ladies and gentlemen, from the opera ghost and his companion."

Erik swirled his cloak around us and stamped his foot hard on the floor. It gave way beneath us and we dropped into a basement, landing on a pile of straw filled sacks. The floor, or ceiling as it was now, snapped shut.

"Master?" I scoffed, struggling to my feet and removing my cream coloured mask. "Were you ever on a power trip."

He shrugged and removed his own mask. "It had the right effect. Now, let's go." He took my hand again and led me through a maze of passages leading downwards, ever downwards.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** Oh, I loved writing this chapter. Loved it, loved it, loved it. Hope you did too!

I'm now going to make myself stick to my only-update-every-Friday rule since I've had a major block on chapter 30. I know exactly what I have to write for the rest of the fic but I can't seem to get it down on paper. My Writing-muse (Erik) has been overruled by my Music-muse (as yet unnamed) ever since I got back to uni. Aside from that, I'm madly busy with my second year and have deadlines for transcriptions, essays and performances all over the place until January. Sorry if updates get slower! I love you all!


	27. A Song and Dance

**A/N:** Oh my God! I beg for your forgiveness, oh wonderful readers! I kinda managed to break my wireless card and only just managed to get hold of a new one (missing half of a World Music lecture in the process). Right, this chapter takes a rather large movement in terms of the plot. I was either very, very tired or had been drinking when writing this so I would like to apologise if it…well, sucks. Bonus cookies to the person who spots the Blackadder paraphrase, and the _Da Vinci Code_ reference.

**PhantomFanatic:** Don't worry about not reading for a while. I totally understand that people are madly busy with school/college/work/life in general. It's not coming to an end yet, not even close. I've just written the ending so I know where I'm going. Hope you enjoyed Shoebox. I don't think I used the term running…oh well. And yes, 48 people are sticking with me but those 48 people have taste.

**TheAngel'sMaggie:** Wow, five hours solid reading. That's impressive. If only it took five hours to write…I love your user name, btw.

**Ailias Kurai:** Time, that wonderful thing that I used to have before I went back to uni…Ah, memories…Heehee.

**Kaledena:** Would you be able to stay away from Erik for a whole month! Didn't think so… I love _Phantom_ as well and, yes, it's coming back into print soon. There was a contest by Lumina Press to find a new cover. I finally got round to reading your phics. I love _Notes_ and managed to read it right through in about an hour :)

**Ellardis Merithdire:** Glad you liked it :) Here's the update!

**InvadeOperaGhost:** Short and to the point. I like it. Glad you're enjoying the fic :)

**WanderingChild24:** Here's the update. Sorry it's been a while.

**SariPunkinPie:** Yay, thanks! Keep up the hoping :)

**HisInspiration:** Intensity is my middle name. Well, actually it isn't but it's a whole lot more interesting than my real middle name… Here's the update!

**Des Iries:** Thanks! Here's the update.

**PhantomFreak07:** Oh, wow, thank so much :) Natalie? I think you mean Marguerite but I know what you mean. I wanted him to go all power-trippy a la the real Red Death.

* * *

**In His Darkness…**

"I'm home," I whispered. Standing on the shore of the lake, I looked around at the cavern that was indeed my home. I blinked back happy tears. "I'm really home."

"You will stay?"

"Of course!" I span round, skirts flying, and flung my arms around Erik. "This is my home. It always has been and it always will be."

He brought his arms around me in a crushing hug that made oxygen a privilege, not a right. "I'm glad."

"I can tell." I snuggled into his chest for a few moments until breathing became difficult. "Erm, Erik? Oxygen is a necessity, you know."

"Sorry." He released me from his strong grip and smiled happily.

I was brushing stray hairs out of my face when a thought struck me. "Monique. Oh, hell. She's going to wonder where I am. I told her I wasn't going to the ball tonight."

"Why?"

"We had an argument. She said you were hypnotising me or something and if I could go a month without seeing you, it would prove that I wasn't under a spell." I rolled my eyes at him. "She's so superstitious."

"A month? You didn't do very well."

"I couldn't do it! I didn't last five days. Maybe I am under your spell," I added lightly. I sighed and shook my head. "Anyway, what am I going to do about her?"

"When she gets back from the ball, she will find all your possessions gone and a note from yourself saying that you have gone back to England and have no intention of returning to Paris."

"Which note?"

"The note that Guillaume left on her pillow when he went and collected your belongings this evening. They are in your room."

"You assume a lot," I said. "What if I refused to come back with you?"

"Then I would have killed myself."

"You can't die."

"Oh. Well, in that case I would have kidnapped you."

"Yeah, great way to regain my trust; a nice healthy kidnapping."

"Oh, shut up." He went over to the organ and began to play.

I stood on the shore of the lake for a moment, grinning madly to myself. Giggling hysterically, I made my way to my room, pausing for a moment to give Erik another hug (making him play a jarring clash on the organ), and found all of my things unpacked as if they had always been there.

I pulled out the kirby grips and removed the wig before brushing out my real hair from its bun. I moved back from the small mirror until I could see as much of myself as possible. I turned round admiring the way the dress fitted my body. _I actually have a figure. I knew it was in there somewhere_, I thought. I didn't want to take the dress off. I've always loved the way dresses like these looked and moved and now I was wearing one I wanted to make the feeling last as long as possible.

The organ music had stopped and I went out into the main cavern to find Erik. As I walked past his room I peered in to see whether he was there. He was. He was also changing out of his Red Death costume. He had his back to me as he slipped off the black shirt that had been under the red jacket and reached for his black dressing gown. His skin was incredibly pale and his back was covered in long scars. There was a large shiny burn across his right shoulder blade. I decided to make my presence known before I could be accused of being a pervy fangirl…sorry, _ph_angirl. "Ah, there you are," I said loudly.

He span round and clutched the gown to his chest. "I'm getting changed."

"Oh, pfft," I said waving my hand airily. "I've seen men in less that that."

His eyes took on a mischievous glint.

"_Swimming_," I said firmly. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

"My mind is not in the gutter," he replied, letting the gown drop and affording me a good look at his well defined muscles.

_No, but mine is_, I thought, trying not to stare. "Of course it's not," I said aloud, dragging my eyes up to his face.

He turned away from me and busied himself brushing the creases out of the gown.

I walked over and stood close behind him, studying the array of white scar tissue on his back. "How did you get these scars?" I asked softly.

He froze. "On my travels."

"And more specifically?"

"In the gypsy camp when we were in Germany. The crowd decided to riot. I was burned and beaten for hours, we all were. I was fifteen."

I ran my fingers lightly along the path of a scar that ran from his shoulder blade around to his rib cage. He shivered and twitched away from my touch. "Sorry, does that tickle?"

"It's cold." He slid his arms into the sleeves of his gown and turned to face me as he tied the belt around his waist.

"Yes, well, if you're going to strut around half naked…" I left the sentence dangling and turned away with a grin.

"I wasn't planning on it but you didn't leave me much choice."

I shrugged. "I'm not complaining." The words left my mouth before my brain could do anything about it. Apparently wine loosens the tongue. I should have learnt that before now.

"Indeed."

There was a tense silence and I was very glad I had my back to him so he couldn't see the blush that was colouring my cheeks.

"Shouldn't you be getting out of that dress?" he said eventually.

"If you insist." I reached round behind my back and pretended to undo the zip.

"Good grief, woman! I meant in your own room!"

I turned round and giggled. He had screwed his eyes shut and had covered his face with his hands for good measure. "I was just joking."

He gingerly opened his eyes. "I really need to stop you drinking wine."

"Never!" I proclaimed, thrusting my fist into the air in mock defiance before dissolving into giggles again.

He groaned, put his hands on my shoulders and led me to my room. "Go to bed. You are drunk."

"If I was drunk, I would be vomiting by now," I said, having experienced the full effects many times before. "I am…inebriated."

"I'm very surprised you can still say that."

"It took a lot of concentration," I admitted. "Will you get me a drink of water while I get changed?"

"Of course." He left the room and I could hear him walking to the kitchen.

I unzipped the dress with a minimum of effort and slipped it over my head with a sigh. Who knows when I would have another chance to wear it. I hung it carefully in the wardrobe before undoing the crinoline and letting it drop to the floor. I put on my purple pyjama shorts before starting to attack the fastenings on the corset.

"Oh, sorry, I'll come back in a bit."

I turned and saw Erik standing in the doorway, holding a large glass of water and blushing the colour of his Red Death cape. "Could you just put the glass next to my bed?" He did so, just as I managed to undo another hook that was over my stomach. "Thanks."

"Sleep well."

"Wait outside for a few minutes. I'll call when I'm ready." When he was outside, I unhooked the rest of the fastenings on the corset and pulled on my pyjama top. "Ready!" I took a deep breath, wallowing in the feeling of having full lungs again. "Oh, that is so much better."

"You're still wearing the necklace, you know."

"Oh." I slid out the earrings easily but fumbled with the catch on the necklace. "Damn thing."

"Let me." He brushed my hair to one side and clicked the catch open. His fingers were cold against my skin and I shivered. "Sorry."

"S'ok. You have cold fingers." I took the necklace from him and put it on the cabinet next to the earrings.

"I know. So, what did you want?"

"Huh?"

"You asked me to wait outside while you changed. I assumed you wanted something."

"Oh, right. Well, actually, I wondered if you would read to me again." I lowered my head shyly. "I drifted off so easily last time."

He smiled. "Of course. Is there anything in particular?"

I ran through a mental list of the books I had with me. It took a while. "Ooh, I know. _The Little White Horse_ by Elizabeth Goudge. I haven't read that in ages."

"It sounds like a children's story," he said apprehensively, sitting down on the bed and taking the book I held out to him.

"I suppose it is," I agreed, clambering past him and sliding under the covers, "but I still love it."

He shrugged and began to read.

_The carriage gave another lurch, and Maria Merryweather, Miss Heliotrope, and Wiggins once more fell into each other's arms, sighed, gasped, righted themselves, and fixed their attention upon those objects which were for each of them at this trying moment the source of courage and strength…_

As he read, his voice became deeper and mellower. I closed my eyes and sank into Maria's world in the little valley of Moonacre. I remember feeling a gentle kiss on my forehead just as I drifted off to sleep.

**-8 -**

When I woke the next morning, I didn't immediately leap out of bed. Actually, let's face it, I never do that. Nor did I groan and pull the duvet over my head when Monique burst in being annoyingly chirpy. I lay there, warm and snug in the soft bedclothes, smiling happily. When I did eventually get up, it was eleven am and there was violin music floating through the air. I dressed quickly and went to find Erik.

He was in the lounge, sitting in one of the armchairs, one ankle resting on the opposite knee looking totally relaxed. He was smiling softly and his eyes were closed as he coaxed the music from the violin.

I leant in the doorway, watching and listening. He seemed totally at ease in his surroundings, so relaxed and happy; a far cry from the tense, angry, volatile Erik of the stories. I smiled, watching his face change as he played. He held the bow gently in his right hand and the long, elegant fingers of his left flew up and down the fingerboard. I was so busy watching his hands that I didn't realise he had opened his eyes and was watching me.

"Good morning, my dear."

"Morning." I walked into the room and sat on the rug in front of the fireplace. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did. And yourself?"

"I don't know. I was asleep." I sighed and stared into the empty grate. "What shall I do today? Music? Reading? Spook random ballet dancers?"

"Spook ballet dancers?" he asked, sounding surprised. There was a gentle clunk as he laid the violin on the table. "That's my job."

"I could spook ballet dancers. How hard can being a ghost actually be?"

He didn't say anything but I could feel his eyes on the back of my head watching me intently. "Do you get bored easily here?"

"Sometimes," I replied warily.

"How can you be bored? You only just came home."

I flopped backwards onto the rug, narrowly missing cracking my head on the stone floor. "I just am."

"Is that a grammatically correct sentence?"

I ignored him. "I've exhausted everything there is to do here; music, reading, writing." I sighed again from my horizontal position. "I need a new hobby, something that's fun and takes up a lot of time."

"What interests you?"

"Life. The universe. Everything."

"Stop paraphrasing and give me a straight answer."

"Ok, one, I can't believe you've read _Hitchhiker's Guide_, and, two, straight answers are not my thing." I sat up with a grunt of effort and stared into the fireplace again. "Maybe I should start drawing again. I need the practise."

"You paint?" I could feel his eyes on the back of my head.

"No, I could never get the hang of colours. I did black and white sketches using whatever medium I could find; pencils, biros, fountain pens, marker pens, chalk. I drew faces on the blackboards in the art room at school once," I remembered. "They were there for ages, until someone embellished them in a way that was deemed inappropriate."

"You will have to show me some of your work."

"Maybe." I flopped backwards onto the rug again and changed the subject. "You look funny upside down."

"You look funny all the time." His eyes sparkled and he smirked as he spoke.

"Why, Erik!" I said in mock surprise. "I do believe that was sarcasm."

"No, it was honesty." He smirked again as he stood and stepped over my head to go out of the room.

My eyes followed him, with some difficulty, as he moved. "Where are you going?"

"I must see Guillaume. It is the New Year and he will want his wages."

"Ok. I'll stay here and amuse myself with…something." I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Very well. I will be back soon." I heard gentle splashes as he punted the boat through the archway and out onto the main body of the lake.

I stayed where I was for a few moments, trying to think of something that was vaguely entertaining. Usually when I get bored, I bake or do something creative. However, I wasn't feeling very creative and it's impossible to bake when there's nothing to bake with. Eventually, I gave up trying to think of something new and went to my room to listen to some of my favourite music. I dragged my favourite tunes onto the playlist, turned up the volume to full and clicked play. Almost immediately, Aerosmith began to blast out of the tiny speakers. I crashed out onto my bed and began singing along, tapping my foot to the beat.

_Walk this way!_

_Talk this way!_

_Walk this way!_

_Walk this way!_

When the famous chorus started I jumped up from my bed and started dancing around my room, tossing my hair around to the beat and waving my arms in the air. I closed my eyes and let the music flood through me as I danced to the beat, knowing that I was alone and had no fear of embarrassing myself.

I kept dancing as my playlist went through Nickelback, Evanescence, Keane, Maroon 5, the Stereophonics, the Chilis and The Killers. Feeling completely free, I threw myself into the music and let it take me to a place where there is only music. I swayed gently to the slow tracks and jumped around madly to the fast ones, joining in on my air guitar when a guitar solo filled the air. I'd almost danced myself out as Coldplay's _Fix You_ began to drift out of the speakers. I lifted my arms in the air and turned in slow circles, moving gently to the slow beat as I sang along softly.

_When you try your best but you don't succeed,_

_When you get what you want but not what you need,_

_When you feel so tired but you can't sleep,_

_Stuck in reverse._

I sang louder as my confidence grew and I remembered that Erik was out. As the instrumental started, I tossed my hair around and rocked my body back and forth to the heavy guitar semiquavers. When the music calmed for the last line, I stood motionless in the middle of the room, my eyes closed and sang along with Chris Martin.

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you._

"Well, that's something I've never seen before."

Erik's voice threw me out of the spell the music had on me and I span around, horrified. He was leaning in the doorway watching me with a small smile on his face. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to see you dancing and hear you singing."

I cringed. "You heard me?"

"Yes. You're not too bad when you have something to sing along to. Although I must question your taste in music. And I use the word 'music' in its broadest possible sense." If he had a nose, it would have wrinkled in distaste.

"These are the classics of the future!" I said indignantly.

"If you want classics, you should listen to Elgar. Mendelssohn. Beethoven. Handel."

"Coldplay. Travis. Queen. The Chilis." I frowned at him. "We are talking about two very different genres."

"Hmmm." He didn't look convinced.

"You want a classic? I'll give you a classic." I leapt over to my computer and found my Beatles collection. I clicked on _Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds_ and let the Fab Four take over.

_Picture yourself in a boat on a river_

_With tangerine trees and marmalade skies._

_Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly_

_A girl with kaleidoscope eyes._

_Cellophane flowers of yellow and green,_

_Towering over your head._

_Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes and she's gone._

"What on earth is that?"

"'That'," I replied, somewhat offended, "is possibly the most well known track from one of, if not _the_, most innovative albums of all time."

"The lyrics don't make sense."

"Well, they wouldn't unless you're on an acid trip." Seeing his confused look, I continued, "Supposedly, Lennon was on an acid trip when he wrote it, but he denied it until his dying day. He said it was about a picture. I don't think many people believed him though."

"It sounds…swirly."

"How very descriptive."

"I'm serious! The music doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't have to," I replied, getting into 'music rant' mode. "It's music. Music shouldn't have to make sense. It should evoke emotions and passions like nothing else on earth. Music should be able to make you cry and make you smile. It should be able to rip your heart out from your chest and crush it before patting you on the back and comforting you. Music shouldn't be studied and analysed using maths and science and sine waves. It should be left alone to…just to be. To be there, to invoke passion, love, lust, hatred, anger, grief, joy." I knew I was repeating myself, but I continued. "God, Erik. Don't study music, don't analyse it and pick it to pieces and then leave it to rot. The best music should sound fresh and inviting even if you've heard it a hundred times. It should well up out of your heart and soul. Music shouldn't have to make sense. Music should just be."

All the time I'd been speaking, he had been watching my mouth and hand gestures. Now as he spoke in a voice that was slightly hoarse with some unknown emotion, his sparkling golden eyes bored into my own grey ones. "It should just be what?"

"Anything. Everything. Nothing." I stamped my foot in exasperation. "Music unites people of every race, class and religion. Music is the true universal language, the real _lingua pura_. It should just be."

"You are passionate about music." His voice was level but there was a gleam of heightened respect and pride in his eyes.

"Music is my life."

"It can be a lonely life."

I looked him square in the eye and took a step closer. "Then I need to find someone who understands. Someone I can share my passion with."

As I watched his eyes, I saw the wall which I had been slowly chipping away at crumble a little more. A glimmer of…something (was it worry? Fear? Hope?) flashed across his face before the wall was firmly in place again, although not as strong as before. I could see some faults in the masonry and I knew a few well placed nudges would bring it crashing down. He was speaking. I drew my attention back to his voice.

"I'm sure you will find someone. There are plenty of musicians around who would gladly share your passion."

"I'm sure I will." We locked eyes and there was silence, apart from our breathing.

Erik took a hesitant step towards me, still holding my gaze. Wordlessly, he held out a hand and I took it. I stepped closer to him and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest. My breathing sounded a million times louder than normal as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

I was determined not to be the first to blink or look away but, as luck would have it, a small fly decided to crash land into my right eye. "Ow! Son of a…" I pulled my hand away from his and rubbed at my eye, making it water and dislodging the body of a small suicidal insect. The moment was well and truly broken.

By the time my eye had stopped watering and I could look up again, Erik had gone.

**-8 -

* * *

**

**A/N:** Oh, the UST. I love creating tension. Sorry about the long wait! Stupid computer…:grumble mutter curse:

_Lucy…_ is from The Beatles' album _Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_. It rocks and is, in my opinion, the most innovative album of the 20th century. If you want to know more about it I'll gladly e-mail you my 2500 word essay from last year. I could also rant about Coldplay forever and a day. I adore their music and consider them one of the truly musical bands in the charts. They pour emotion into their music and reach out to everyone. Ok, I'll shut up now…

I watched _Dear Frankie_ on Saturday 15th and absolutely fell in love with it. I thought the ending was a bit off but apart from that it was wonderful. The accent just manages to make Gerry that much hotter --swoon--


	28. Arguments and hormones

**A/N:** 100 Reviews! (Thanks to **PhantomFanatic** for pointing that out). Mask shaped cookies and double chocolate muffins for all! And yes, I do realise it's Saturday. I apologise.

**WanderingChild24:** :D Thanks! I have found through experience that suppressed giggling in a library is not welcome. Unsuppressed giggling is even less welcome.

**Des Iries:** Thanks :) Here's the update.

**Kaledena:** Writer's block, huh? I sympathise wholeheartedly. I think I paid about £1.50 (about US $2.60) for my hardback copy of _Phantom_. It's not in very good condition though… You _have_ to watch _Dear Frankie_. As a fellow authoress I order you to watch it! (Note to self; lay off the sugar)

**TheAngel'sMaggie:** Glad you loved the chapter :) Everyone says that his eyes are green but I've always thought they were blue-grey. Maybe I should take a closer look… (oh no, what a shame. I'll have to watch _Dear Frankie_ again).

**PhantomFreak07:** I cried as well and I never cry at films. That 'moment' outside their front door towards the end (I hope you know what I mean) was just…wow. I was screaming at the TV. Yeah, I would have hung around as well but I have my own Gerry replica to think of. Wouldn't want him to get jealous now would we! I adore The Beatles, especially since I did the essay last year. My music tastes just swing wildly from genre to genre. I've got a whole list on my profile and I'm sure I left stuff out! P.S. Just found your _Guide and Guardian_ and love it. Keep up the good work!

**PhantomFanatic:** I didn't even realise that I'd made 100 reviews…but YAY! Um, watching the movie…I think it's about chapter 36 ish but my notebook is hiding under a mess in the lounge so I'm not sure.

**Phantomess08:** --hands over traditional welcoming cookies-- Ooh, caps lock review! Heehee glad you like the fic so much.

**In His Darkness…**

After that exchange, the mood in the cavern became more formal and slightly distant. I really should lay off the wine; it makes me say things that should probably be left unsaid. Having said that, I do like Erik. A lot. I mean, he's such a wonderful person. If I said I loved him, I'd be telling the truth but I mean 'love' in a purely platonic sense. Although having said that, if he had kissed me in that moment (which I swear he was about to do) I would have kissed him back like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't tell if it would have been just a spur-of-the-moment kiss or one that meant soemthing more.

Anyway, about a week later, Nadir came down to the cavern. Apparently Erik had missed the last two meetings again and he wasn't very happy about it. Erik had gone out to annoy 'that Carla woman' again, leaving me alone in the cavern with books and stomach cramps for company. I wasn't in the best of moods anyway and Nadir turning up just added another antagonist to the mix. I was crashed out on the rug in the lounge when he walked in.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Nadir. I'm fine, thanks for asking," I replied sarcastically without looking up from _The Magician's Nephew_.

"I believe I asked you to address me as M. Khan." His voice was icy.

"Whatever, dude." I glanced up and saw him glaring at me. "Look, Erik's not here so why don't you toddle off home to wherever it is you live."

"I will wait." He settled himself in the chair.

I shrugged and began reading again.

After a few minutes he spoke again. "I repeat, what are you doing here?"

"Reading."

"I do not appreciate your tone."

"Look," I growled, "I live here, ok? Deal with it."

"I will not 'deal with it'," he snapped. "Erik made a grave mistake in letting you return here."

"That is for him to decide," I snarled.

"I know you told people about him." His voice was quiet and menacing.

"Don't be stupid, of course I didn't." Inside, I was running through all the times I had spoken about Erik to Monique or Pierre. I had never been inside the opera house when he was part of the conversation.

"I heard the red-head talking to that boy that everyone thinks is so handsome."

"Their names are Monique and Pierre, thank you very much." I put the book down and turned to face him with a glare firmly fixed on my face. He was looking at me equally fiercely.

"I don't care what their names are. All I know is that they were talking about their crazy English friend who believed she was living with _le fantôme_." He was talking so fiercely that I could see the veins in his head throbbing.

"Ok, so I told them. It's no big deal."

"Of course it is a big deal!" he yelled. "I cannot risk anyone finding out he is here!"

"This is not about you," I snapped. "This is about Erik. He doesn't know I told anyone and that is the way it is going to stay."

"Oh, is it?"

"Yes, it is." I stood and glared at him. "Do not even think about trying to blackmail me, _Nadir_. It won't work."

He stood as well, but at 5'9 I towered over his 5'4 frame. "Oh, won't it, _child_."

"No." I scowled at him and debated throwing the nearby poker at his head. "Just get out, Nadir. Just leave."

"I will not take orders from a cleaner," he hissed.

"I am not a cleaner and that was not an order," I replied angrily, another cramp screaming through my abdomen. "It was a friendly suggestion to get the hell out."

"Fine," he growled. "But be assured, _child_, that Erik will hear of this." He stormed out of the room, grumbling in his native language.

"Good!" I yelled to his retreating back. "Tell him how you got ordered around by a twenty-year old woman! He could do with a laugh!"

There was no reply, and so I threw myself into the armchair and allowed myself to fume for a while. My stomach gave an almighty twinge, diverting my irritation away from Nadir and towards the fact that I was female.

When Erik returned an hour later, I was calmer and had curled up in the chair to finish reading _The Magician's Nephew_.

"Any visitors?" he asked lightly.

"Oh, President Chirac wants your opinion on a few matters," I replied lightly, accepting a kiss on the forehead, "and the Queen requests your company at tea and crumpets next Thursday."

"When will they learn to book in advance?" He swirled the cloak from his shoulders (**A/N: ** And there is a slight pause while the authoress heads off to take a cold shower) and draped it over the other chair.

"Who knows?" My smile vanished as I added, "Actually, you did have a visitor. Your trumped up security guard paid a most delightful visit." I infused my voice with as much sarcasm as I could muster given the immense craving for chocolate that had just overtaken my body.

"What did he want?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh, to hurl a few accusations, the odd insult…the usual," I shrugged. I began to read again but the book was snatched away by a black-gloved hand. "Hey!"

"What accusations and insults?" His voice was level but there was an angry glint in his golden eyes.

"Don't worry about it," I replied, waving off his protectiveness. "Can I have my book back now?"

"That covers the insults." He dangled the book between two long elegant fingers just out of my reach. "What did he accuse you of?"

"He said I was leading you on and was nothing but a troublemaker," I replied, thinking quickly. "Look, don't be mad at him, please. It was my fault-I made him angry."

"How exactly would you have made him angry?"

I grinned wickedly. "I yelled at him to get the hell out. I don't think he liked it very much."

Erik's frown faded into a thoughtful smile. "Did he leave?"

"Yep," I giggled.

Erik burst into his rich musical laughter with a loud 'Ha!' and tossed the book into my hands. I grinned, flicked it open to the right page and began to read.

**-8 -**

"Nadir! I hear that Marguerite decided to exercise her authority over you earlier today."

The abrupt halt to the organ music and Erik's laughing voice made me look up from the penultimate page of _The Magician's Nephew_ with a grimace._ Since when did I have authority?_, I thought to myself before muttering aloud, "Note to self: never exaggerate, ever again."

"She told you about our conversation?" Nadir's heavily accented French drifted into the lounge.

"She did. However, I must say that hurling insults and false accusations at her will not endear you to me." I smirked to myself as I heard Erik's tone. He was talking to Nadir as if he was a small child that had done something naughty.

"_False_?" came the angry reply. "These were not false accusations. She told her two friends about you and your friendship and then laughingly told me it was no big deal."

I froze, waiting for the explosion from Erik.

"Marguerite, could you come here for a moment?" Erik's voice was calm and completely level.

"Sure, just let me finish this paragraph," I called back, hoping to buy some time.

"_Now_, please."

I gulped. Erik's voice was getting that edge to it that meant he was going to snap very soon. I dragged myself to my feet and wandered out into the main cavern. "God, I love that book…oh, hello M. Khan."

"Mademoiselle," he replied smugly with a brief nod. I shot him a vicious look before turning to Erik.

"Marguerite, did you hear what we were talking about?" asked Erik. His face was a blank canvas but I could see his hands trembling with suppressed emotion.

"No," I replied, innocently widening my eyes and looking from one man to the other. "I was listening to Diggory."

"Who?"

I sighed impatiently, glad to have distracted him from the topic at hand, however briefly. "One of these days, I am going to force you to read _Narnia_, _Lord of the Rings_ and _Harry Potter_. Then maybe you will get what I'm talking about half the time. Then of course there's all the movies…and _Friends_, _Red Dwarf_, _The Simpsons_, _Buffy_…"

"Stop trying to change the subject," snapped Nadir.

"Nadir!" said Erik sharply. "I will deal with this."

The man quietened immediately and I had a fleeting impression of a dog obeying its master. "Sit, boy. Good boy," I sniggered before I could stop myself.

He snarled at me and opened his mouth to retort.

"Marguerite, stop antagonising him. Nadir, keep silent." Erik's harsh tone made us stop talking and look at him meekly. I considered myself his equal but he still had the power to control me. He turned his gaze to me. "Nadir has told me something rather interesting."

"Oh?"

"He told me that your two friends somehow know about our rela…friendship."

"Oh." _Was he going to say 'relationship'?_

"Indeed." His voice became icy and he was no longer trying to hide the scowl that he had been suppressing. "How do you suppose that happened?"

"Um…"

"Marguerite." His voice made me drag my eyes up from the floor to meet his own. "Tell me the truth."

I took the opportunity to direct a scowl at Nadir. "I want you to know that I think you're a git. An annoying git at that."

"I will not be spoken to…" he began.

"Oh, shut up, you bloody great prat," I snapped.

"Don't you talk to me like that!"

"I'll talk to you however I want!"

"SILENCE!" Erik's voice echoed round the cavern, and Nadir and I stopped bickering. "Honestly, you two are behaving like children."

I opened my mouth to argue but Erik covered with his hand. "Quiet."

I couldn't have spoken if I wanted to. His scent was filling my lungs; a mixture of lilies and something entirely individual and masculine flooded my senses. I took a deep breath through my nose to steady myself but it only served to make me dizzier.

"You can leave, Nadir." Erik's voice snapped me back to my senses. "Marguerite and I need to talk."

Nadir nodded and left, but not before shooting a death glare at me. I returned it ten-fold, along with muffled curses.

When the splashing footsteps had faded, Erik dropped his hand from my mouth and turned a severe look in my direction. "You need to watch your language."

"I only called him a prat," I muttered sulkily.

"And I daresay he deserved it but foul language should not come out of a lady's mouth."

"You've heard far worse from me, but I'm glad you think I'm a lady."

"Of course I do." He stopped himself with a quick gesture. "Stop trying to distract me…"

"If I wanted to distract you," I interrupted, "I could think of a much more fun way to do it."

He blushed deeply as I gave him a cheeky wink. "Enough! What did you say to your friends?"

I groaned and walked back into the lounge. "They didn't believe me."

"You told them about me!" Erik stared at me, dumbfounded.

"Yes, and I gave them detailed instructions on how to get down here so we can all have a wild underground rave," I replied sarcastically, massaging my stomach as the beginnings of a cramp threatened.

"Marguerite, this is not a laughing matter…"

"Oh, for goodness sake," I snapped. "I'm here, they're not and they never will be. Get over it, Erik."

He looked at me with a sudden rush of understanding. "Is it that time of the month when you need chocolate?"

"I always need chocolate."

"I mean, in vast quantities."

"Yes. Look out world-Marguerite is on her period." I glowered at him until the cramp seized my abdomen and I doubled over in pain.

Erik's arm came around my shoulders and he led me to one of the armchairs. "Sit. I'll get you some tea."

"And…?"

"And a large bar of white chocolate."

"I think I love you," I said lightly.

He gave me a gentle smile. "I'll be right back."

As he handed me the hot mug of tea a few minutes later, I said, "I'm sorry about telling Monique about you."

He sat in the opposite chair, elbows on his knees, and looked at me intently. "Why did you tell her?"

I sighed and took a sip of the scalding hot tea before resting the mug in my lap. "I don't know. They were both irritating me and I just snapped. I yelled at them about you and then didn't talk to them for a week."

"What did you say?"

I closed my eyes and leant back in the chair to remember. "Something along the lines of how you're not a monster, how you're such a wonderful friend and how you know me so well you can avoid me when there's a rant coming on. Monique was impressed when I told her how you know when to give me chocolate and run away."

"Why did you say that?"

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "I said it because it's true. Every word." I stood up and went to sit on the coffee table in front of him. "Erik, you are a wonderful person and I've been lucky enough to see that. You know me better that anyone and I can tell you anything. I've told you some stuff that I've never told anyone else." I put the mug of tea on the table next to me and clasped Erik's cold hands in my own warm ones. "Erik, you are the best friend I've ever had," I continued, switching to English for emphasis, "and, well, I really love you."

"I love you too," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "You are the first real friend I've had."

"Well, I'm always going to be around," I smiled, squeezing his hands. "You won't be able to get rid of me."

"I don't want to get rid of you." He ran a hand over my head and pulled me towards him to press a kiss to my forehead. "Marguerite," he sighed, "I love having you here. It's like having Natalie back."

My eyes had closed at the contact but they opened abruptly. There was a jolt in the area of my stomach that had nothing to do with period pains. "I'm glad you think of me as a sister," I replied softly, pulling away from his arms and picking up the rapidly cooling tea again.

"You're better than a sister." He reached down beside the chair and picked up a bar of white chocolate. He broke off a few squares for himself and handed me the rest of the bar.

"I've heard you say that before," I said, snapping off a square of chocolate and popping it into my mouth. The creamy taste spread over my tongue and I let out a soft groan of pleasure.

"You heard that?"

"Yes. I had to come back for my piccolo, remember?"

"Ah, yes." He began nibbling delicately on a piece of chocolate.

"I thought chocolate wasn't good for singers," I said curiously.

"I don't sing."

I decided not to press the point. If the time came when Erik wanted to sing, he would let me know. "There always seem to be arguments when Nadir's around," I said thoughtfully. "There was that time, and today, and the first time I met him. You two had a big row that day."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know that?"

"The shouting and the broken crockery gave me a slight clue."

"You said that you had to hide up in the chapel that day and you only came down when you heard the crash."

"Erm…" _Crap, crap, crap…_

"Marguerite, how much did you hear?"

Fortunately (and I never thought I'd be saying that about period pains), another stomach cramp hit me and I slumped over with a hiss of pain, slopping hot tea across the table and floor. "Son of a…"

Erik pulled me towards him and held my hand until the pain ebbed away. "Better?"

I nodded weakly. "I need Nurofen. Why don't they sell Nurofen in France? I'll have to write home for supplies."

"You poor thing." He kissed my forehead again. "Go and lie down. I'll play for you."

I shook my head. "Sorry. I need Gerry. I'd much rather it was you singing to me but, well, you know." I stood up, clutching the half spilled mug of tea, and made my way to my room. The computer was turned on so all I had to do was drag _Music of the Night_, _Wandering Child_ and _No-one Would Listen_ onto the playlist and set it to repeat the three songs. I curled up on my bed with the slab of chocolate and drifted off into a musically induced trance.

**-8 -**

**A/N:**_The Magician's Nephew_ is the first book in the _Narnia_ series by C.S. Lewis. I love the _Narnia_ books but haven't had the chance to read them in ages.

Halloween! I love Halloween. My housemate's friend is having a party (fancy dress of course) so we're off to wherever she lives tomorrow. I'm dressing up as The Phantom. More of a Phantomess to be precise-I tried to make myself look manly and succeeded in looking more like a transvestite gone wrong. So, long black crinkly skirt, black corset halter top, _home-made_ black cloak with red lining and the mask. I can't wait! (**Edit:** Dying the cloak fabric went a bit wrong so now I have a silvery cloak, a black hand and a grey hand. Oops.)

Happy Halloween everyone!


	29. Chapter 28 and a half: Just checking

**A/N:** This is just a short chapter to tide you all over until I get round to writing up chapter 29. It is a blipic, as it were. (Blame Misty Breyer). I don't know when the next chapter will be up as I've got an essay and a transcription due in in a fortnight and I haven't started either yet. Oops. Hurrah for university! --half-hearted flag waving--

**In His Darkness…**

I was sitting cross-legged on my bed reading when Erik walked in. I had to do a double take when I glanced up. He was wearing simple black trousers and his black silk robe which hung open and afforded me a good look at the smooth plane of his torso. His thin, athletic frame was covered by skin paler than I remembered and the familiar line of the scar on his rib cage seemed to glow in the candlelight. I had just managed to close my mouth when he spoke.

"Marguerite, may I speak with you?"

"Of course." I folded down the corner of the page I was on and carefully rested the book on the bedside cabinet.

Erik sat on the bed next to me and took one of my hands in both of his. I noticed, not for the first time, that his hands were so cold it seemed as though ice was running through his veins. "About last week, on the night of the ball. I wanted to apologise. I think I did something very stupid."

"What do you mean?" I unfolded my legs and twisted round to face him.

"Marguerite…" His voice was almost a sigh. One of his hands came up to cup the side of my face. "You truly have no idea how beautiful you are, do you? Piercing grey eyes that sparkle when you laugh, auburn hair that shines like gold in the candlelight…full, soft lips." He brushed a thumb over my mouth. "You are so mesmerising when you play."

I was utterly speechless. My heart was hammering and I kept forgetting to breathe. It was only when he ran his fingers through my hair and they grazed the bare skin of my shoulder that I remembered I was only wearing a vest top and shorts pyjama set-and I mean 'only'.

"Erm," I finally squeaked. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Erik."

"I thought I was making my self perfectly clear," he replied in a low purr that sent shivers down my spine.

"You were…I mean, you are…I mean," I cut myself off with a shaky sigh. "What stupid thing did you do last week?"

"This." He brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear before softly running his hand down my cheek.

"What's so stupid about that?" I asked, slightly unnerved by the intensity in his amber eyes. "You do always do things like that."

"It was stupid because I should have done this." Erik ran his had over my hair until it came to rest on the back of my neck. He gently pulled my face towards his and before I knew what was happening he was kissing me.

It wasn't a hands-and-mouths everywhere kiss-it was his lips pressed against mine. An insistent pressure that made my eyelids flutter closed and my hand slide up his arm and around his neck. Just as I relaxed into the kiss and tentatively began to open my mouth under his, he pulled away. I made a whimper of protest and tried to grab his hand but he stood and crossed the room hurriedly.

"This is wrong," he said in a ragged whisper. "I should not have done that." He turned to leave but I leapt across the room after him and latched onto his arm.

"It's not wrong," I said desperately. "It's so right. If I didn't want this, do you think I would have kissed you back? I don't kiss people out of sympathy, Erik. Not like that."

"Want what?" he replied, confusion spreading across the twisted features.

"This," I said, gesturing between us. "You and me. Us." He still looked confused, so with a muttered, "Sod this," I put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him down.

Our lips crashed together and I vaguely thought that my lips would be sore when I practised tomorrow but that thought was pushed away when Erik wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his bare chest. Somehow we made our way to the bed and then he was leaning over me, kissing me hard. His hand slid under my top and ran across my bare stomach. His touch made me shiver, not altogether from the coldness of his skin. I slid my own hand inside his robe and brushed my fingers across the myriad of scars.

He pulled back and looked at me, his golden eyes burning fiercely into mine. With a low growl he dipped his head to my neck and dragged his lips along my collar bone. I groaned as he swept his tongue over a certain spot on my neck and one of my hands came up to grasp his hair. The wig came off in my hands and I dropped it without a second thought before running my fingers through his real hair.

His blonde hair.

"I didn't know you were a natural blonde," I said breathlessly.

"You don't pay enough attention to details," he replied in unaccented English.

There was something so familiar about that voice that I pushed him away to see if I was right. My eyes widened as they met a pair of blue ones, glittering out from behind clear-rimmed glasses.

"I've missed you, Meg," whispered Mark.

"Mark…" I could barely speak. I looked down at the body lying over me and it had completely changed. Instead of Erik's pale thin frame, there was lightly tanned skin covering a fuller stomach, and a pear-shaped birthmark on the stomach. It was definitely Mark. "I don't understand," I whispered. "Where's Erik?"

"There was never Erik," smirked Mark, maliciousness shining out of his eyes. "You were always mine, Meg. You were just to stupid to realise. Mine, Meg. Mine."

He kissed me again, forcefully, and I felt my lips crack and bleed. I wrenched my head to one side to scream for Erik but the cavern, my home, was gone and I was back in the hotel room.

I screamed. Again and again I screamed but no-one came. Mark began shaking me to make me quiet. "Marguerite! Marguerite…"

**-8 -**

"Marguerite!"

I sat bolt upright in bed and straight into Erik's arms. My whole body was shaking and my breath was coming in deep, shuddering gasps.

"Are you alright?" Erik's voice jolted me back to reality and I buried my head in his shoulder as he ran a comforting hand over my back. "Did you have a nightmare?"

I nodded. "It turned into one." I pulled back but let him keep his arms around me. "Mark was in it."

As I told him about the second half of the dream, his body became visibly tenser and his jaw clenched. "Have you dreamed about him before?" he asked when I had finished.

I shook my head. "I don't usually remember my dreams. I hope this isn't like a premonition or something."

"Nonsense," Erik snorted, giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Will you be able to sleep now?"

"I think so." I snuggled back under the covers and let Erik brush my hair out of my face.

"Who were you kissing before he turned into Mark?" he asked suddenly.

"You," I replied, blushing furiously and trying to hide in a pillow.

There was a pause before he said softly, "Well, it was just a dream."

I nodded slowly. A thought struck me and I reached up to tug on a section of Erik's hair.

"Ow! What was that for?"

I smiled and closed my eyes. "Just checking."

**-8 -**

**A/N:** My housemates and I want to thank you all for your support after the burglary. Unfortunately, none of our stuff has turned up yet, but there is always hope! Thanks to **The Cure**, **HisInspiration**, **WanderingChild24**, **Lady Karol** (who I also give welcoming cookies to), **Kaledena**, **MusicGirl141**, **PhantomFreak07** and **Ailias Kurai** who all reviewed with their sympathies. As did the people I replied to individually below:

**Shadow-Sun:** Please let Erik hunt them down. Pretty please? No? Oh fine… --gives welcoming cookies--

**Ellardis Merithdire:** I'm not sure what it is about chocolate. I think it's something to do with endorphins (the happy hormone). I just use it as an excuse to eat more chocolate!

**Lady Fae:** Done and done! I think I might need a new memory stick for my fics alone! --hands over welcoming cookies--

**PhantomFanatic:** I'd never dream of abandoning my fics. They're like an escape from the world of university and Tesco.

**Erik's Secret Admirer:** Argh! Please don't Raoul me! --calms down-- Ahem. Here, have some welcoming cookies.


	30. Visiting Friends

**A/N:** OK, it's been forever since I updated. I apologise to you all so much! Thank you for being so patient with me! I'd like to point out that I am not happy at all with this chapter so I'm going to re-write it once I get my creativity back.

Oh, and this is the last chapter to include review replies. From now on, unless you review anonymously, I'll be using the reply function that's been so kindly installed.

**Lethalies:** No! Please don't cry! Here's the update!

**Songbird'sGril:** Tut, tut. Language! Heehee. Glad you like the story! --hands over traditional welcoming cookies--

**InvadeOperaGhost:** Glad you like! Hope you enjoy this chapter too :)

**MoonwalkingPhantom:** I'm really glad you like this story :) Hope to read yours at some point!

**Charity Turner:** I've never been called a home dawg before. I could get used to it…maybe. Glad you enjoy! Here's the next chapter.

**NelyGirl:** So glad you liked the half-a-chapter as well! Here's the next one. Sorry it took so long.

**Lady Fae:** :-D I hated having to make it a dream sequence. I half considered not too but it would mess up the rest of my ideas. Hope you enjoyed the cold shower! I've written a one-shot called _1000 Talents_ if your interested, and I'm working on a series of drabbles which should be up soon. Thing is, I've written them all in different notebooks so I'm not sure where they all are…d'oh.

**PhantomFanatic:** I do listen to my reviewers but I don't always do what they request. That's all I'm saying.

**Kaledena:** Yes, preciousss, it's being tricksy…Sorry, can you tell I've been watching Lord of the Rings? Hehe. Your fic has not been going downhill! I'm enjoying reading it. Keep going!

**Erik's Secret Admirer:** Well, no…but it sounds either painful or scary. Actually, a bit of both. Glad you're enjoying the fic. Sorry about the long wait.

**In His Darkness…**

For the next few days, Erik seemed distant. His movements, instead of being graceful, seemed uncertain and his voice was airy. He was off in his own little world, only dragging himself out of it to give me one word answers before sinking back into a trance. Eventually, I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to get out of the house. I was so used to his every movement being filled with a fluid decisiveness that his trance-like state was unnerving me.

Recently, Monique and Pierre had been playing on my mind and I wondered what they had been up to. They had made such a cute couple, if slightly nauseating, at the ball and I wondered if they were still together. I was sure that they would be but they were both my friends and, well…I missed them. I went to my room and pulled on black jeans and a long sleeved black top. Donning the dark brown wig, I picked up the cream coloured mask and snuck out of the cavern leaving Erik in the lounge staring unseeingly at the fire flickering in the grate. I crept up to the mirror along the passage that Erik had reluctantly shown me, humming quietly under my breath.

When I reached the two-way mirror, I came to an abrupt halt. The masses of junk had been removed and the room had been fully refurbished as a dressing room. The dressing table was covered with an array of cosmetics and its small mirror was surrounded by fully working lights. There was a dressing screen in the corner beside which was a rail hung with various costumes. However, it was not the transformation of what I had come to think of as my practise room that made me stop in my tracks and swear under my breath.

In the centre of the room looking at her reflection in the mirror stood the raven haired Scottish soprano, Christine Greer. She was running through some scales and her voice was crystal clear. However, as I moved closer I could see that her eyes were red and watery. Natural concern overrode the ghost-like hiding instinct. I waited until she took a breath before speaking.

"Christine…" My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Who…who's there?" she stammered, looking around in panic.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle Greer," I said, my voice low and husky.

"Are you the ghostess?" Her eyes scanned the surface of the mirror and in the stark light I could see that they were a pale brown…almost golden.

"I find that title to be overused," I replied irritably. "But if it is how you wish to address me, then yes."

"Are you behind the mirror?" She was becoming bolder now and took a step towards me.

_Uh-oh_. I felt about on the wall next to the mirror. To my right the wall disappeared and a narrow passage ran around the side of the room. Silently, I took a few steps to my right until I came to a small crack in the masonry. "I am everywhere," I said quietly.

A smirk spread across my face as she span round in the direction of my voice. "You really are a ghost."

"Of course," I chuckled before sighing impatiently and continuing. "Mademoiselle, I am very busy and had not intended to reveal myself to you. However, I perceive that you are somewhat distressed."

"You what?"

Along the passage there was a speck of light. I felt my way towards it and found a small flap covering a hole in one of the portraits. "Your eyes are red and puffy, Christine. You have been crying."

Without bothering to follow my voice, she sat on the stool at the dressing table and ran a hand through her straight black hair. "Oh, that. It's nothing-just Carla getting to me again."

"I wouldn't worry, Christine," I said, accidentally slipping into informal English before cursing silently and switching back to French. "_Le fantôme_ is not pleased with Carla. He…admires your talent," I continued, a hint of bitter jealousy seeping into my voice. "If he favours you, you will be a star."

"Do you really think so?" She looked hopefully up at the mirror as I slipped silently back towards it.

"Do you doubt my words?" I snapped.

"N…no. Not at all." I was smugly pleased to hear that she was frightened.

"Because I would advise against it, _mademoiselle_, if you value your career." I spoke harshly, even though I knew that my threat was emptier than a tub of Ben and Jerry's at a sleepover.

She stood and her hand flew to her throat. "I don't doubt you, I don't! I just don't understand why he would take an interest in me."

"Well, don't ask me. The things that take his fancy are an utter mystery," I sneered. As her face fell, I pushed the bitterness to one side and added gently. "You have a beautiful voice, Christine. With your talent and his instruction, you could go far in this world."

She stared hopefully at the mirror, her light brown eyes sparkling with hopeful tears. "Do you really think he would help me?"

"I can't promise anything, Christine. I wouldn't presume to tell my master what to do," I replied, silently cursing Erik for making me seem his inferior.

She cocked her head to one side interestedly. "Is he really your master?"

I paused to form a decent answer before replying. "He treats me as an equal," I said simply. "Unless he finds reason not to."

"Is he really like in the stories?" she asked. "I mean, I wouldn't think for a moment that I know the real him, but is he so far away from the fictional character that I know?"

"If you mean, is he short tempered, violently strong, and far and away the best musician you will ever meet, then he's exactly like the stories say," I answered. "However, if you mean is he a homicidal maniac with a penchant for dropping chandeliers on people, then no, he's nothing like Leroux's character." _At least, I hope not,_ I thought.

In the dim light that was coming through the mirror, I glanced at my watch and pulled a face. I still hadn't seen Monique and Pierre and their shift would finish in forty-five minutes. "I must be going, Christine. Stay safe and keep practising. I will remember you to him."

"Thank you," she answered softly, standing again and rolling her shoulders back into her singing posture.

I turned away from the mirror and walked down the passageway, tugging the mask from my face as I went.

Erik had moved to the organ when I stomped into the cavern, my face twisted into a scowl. The glittering toccata he was currently playing did nothing to stop my impatience. As I crossed the ledge to the passage up to the chapel, I called out to him.

"Christine says hi."

There was a clash of chords and a thump of knee against wood as my voice made him jump. "Who?"

I stopped in my tracks and faced him, the mask dangling from my hand. "Christine. Black hair, brown eyes? Scottish? Incredible voice?"

"Oh, her." He turned back to the organ absentmindedly.

"Yes." I wandered over and rested my hands on his shoulders to read the music. "She reminds me of someone," I added. "I just can't figure out whom."

"A famous Scottish person, perhaps?" replied Erik, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"She doesn't bear much of a resemblance to Sean Connery," I replied easily. "Not enough facial hair."

A few seconds of thoughtful silence passed before I shrugged and headed for the concealed passage to the chapel. "I'm off to see Monique and Pierre," I called back to Erik. "I'll see you later."

"Stay in the shadows," he called back, "and be very careful up in the flies."

"Yeah, yeah," I replied airily, secretly glad for his concern.

I walked up the passageway, slipping the mask over my face and paused at the exit to the chapel to listen for voices. There were none and I slipped through the narrow walkways easily until I was standing in the dark shadows of the wings, concealed by one of the black curtains that hid waiting actors from the audience.

Peering around into the auditorium, I saw my old work friends busily scrubbing, vacuuming and polishing. Jacques was vacuuming the velour seats in the stalls, Hélène was scowling as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain in on of the boxes, and Marie-Élise was sharing a joke with Florent. Finally I caught sight of Monique and Pierre. They were walking up the centre aisle carrying buckets of soapy water and scrubbing brushes. With a gasp, I realised that this must be one of the weeks when the stage was thoroughly scrubbed down. Quickly and quietly, I climbed up into the catwalks above the stage as Monique and Pierre began sloshing hot soapy water over the wood. I settled myself onto the catwalk to listen to their conversation.

"For the last time, Pierre," snapped Monique, grabbing her fiery curls and twisting them into a bun before securing it with a pen, "you were mistaken. She is back in England now and she was _not_ at the ball!"

"I know, Monique," replied Pierre evenly, "but those eyes were so familiar."

"It was one of the ghost's tricks," scowled Monique as she knelt and began scrubbing the stage.

Pierre knelt beside her and rested a hand on her knee. "I know you miss her."

Monique sighed and looked up at him. "She was such a good friend and she just left without saying anything. She didn't even leave an address!"

She accepted the kiss that Pierre pressed to her temple before they both turned back to their work. "There must be a way we can contact Marguerite," said Pierre in a frustrated voice.

Monique dropped her scrubbing brush with a clunk. "How exactly do you plan to do that?"

Pierre knelt back on his heels thoughtfully. "Didn't she have an online journal? That should have an email address on it somewhere, and if not we can contact one of her friends."

My eyes widened and I swore silently. My journal did indeed have an email address on it and I didn't mind them finding it. However, I didn't want them contacting anyone on my friends list and finding out that I wasn't in England.

Monique's face lit up in a smile and she hugged Pierre. "That's a fantastic idea! I'll find it on my computer and we can contact her."

"You two!" A new voice rang out through the auditorium and Monique and Pierre sprang apart. "I do not pay you to sit around and hug each other!"

The formidable figure of Mme LaCroix strode up the centre aisle and stood in front of the stage, arms crossed and glaring at my two friends.

"Sorry, Madame," said Pierre meekly. "We were just…uh, talking about the new opera."

"Yes, we were," agreed Monique. "I take it the opera ghost has contacted you about the lead roles and things."

Mme LaCroix ran a hand through her hair. "Yes, he has," she sighed. "He wants a mass audition tomorrow afternoon. Everyone from cleaner to manager must be there. Surely you have seen the posters around backstage?"

"Of course," said Pierre hurriedly and I could tell he was making a mental note to find one of the posters. "Er…what's the opera called again?"

"_The Devil's Child_." Mme LaCroix sighed again and looked around nervously. "I think it may be about him-a child is kidnapped by a gypsy camp and put on show as a freak before being rescued by his twin sister."

"_Le fantôme_ has a sister?" asked Monique.

Mme LaCroix snapped out of her trance. "Of course not, girl. It is an opera! Pure fiction!"

Up in the catwalks, I stifled a snigger.

"Now get back to work!" Mme LaCroix stalked down aisle again and began berating Jacques for his vacuuming technique.

Monique and Pierre shared a glance as they turned back to their work and I was just thinking about leaving when they began to chat again.

"Did you see the new soprano wandering around here earlier?" Pierre asked as they both began scrubbing at the stage again.

"Yes," replied Monique. "She seems a lot nicer than Carla. Still full of herself though."

"Do you remember what her name is?" added Pierre with the air of someone about to impart valuable gossip.

"Christine," spat Monique. "Honestly, you couldn't' have planned it better if we were characters in a book." (**A/N:** And the authoress takes a moment to snigger).

"I don't know," replied Pierre thoughtfully. "Wasn't the original Christine blonde?"

Monique shrugged. "I've never read it."

Up in the catwalks, I shot her a glare and vowed to leave a copy in box five with a note attached to it.

"Marguerite would be mad with you for saying that!" said Pierre with a small smile.

"I know," sighed Monique. "I miss her, I really do."

After that, they worked in companionable silence and I felt it best to leave them to it. I climbed down from the catwalk and slipped down to the chapel, having to dart behind a curtain quickly when a stage hand rounded the corner.

When I got down to the cavern again, Erik was standing next to the organ running a cloth over the wooden casing and tall pipes. "What time are the auditions tomorrow?" I called out.

"Four o'clock," he replied absently before turning round with a stunned expression on his face. "How did you find out!"

"I heard Monique and Pierre talking," I replied, seating myself on the organ stool. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you'd be all that interested."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "You didn't think I'd be interested in the people who would be performing the opera you wrote and which I spent ages writing out?"

Erik looked rather uncomfortable. "Yes."

I shook my head. "Idiot. I want to be there!"

"Are you sure?"

"Erik, if you don't let me come to these auditions with you, I'm going to take myself."

He smiled properly for the first time in days. "You can come with me."

I squealed happily and threw my arms around him in a hug. "Thank you!" A sudden, very important thought struck me.

"What should I wear?"

"All black, and the mask." He eyed my outfit critically. "What you're wearing now is fine."

I looked down at my wrinkled clothes disdainfully. "These? They're all smelly from where I was sitting up in the catwalks. It's hot up there!"

Erik shrugged and stood elegantly. "So find something else that's black."

I nodded thoughtfully and headed off to my room to change and to find more black clothes. Honestly, living with Erik was like being at a constant funeral.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** Since a few people have asked/said similar things. I'm going to answer a few of you all together. Unfortunately, none of our belongings have turned up yet. We have checked pawn shops a billion times but it's all a case of waiting and hoping. At the moment, I'm just trying to forget about it all and I think that goes for my two housemates as well but we are keeping spirits up by having far too many people over and playing marathon games of Trivial Pursuit :-D

I am so incredibly sorry about the long wait for this chapter. Aside from having to re-write the whole thing, I've had three assignments due in at uni in the past fortnight. You'll all be pleased to know that our house is as safe as…well, houses. Might be a bit too safe though-my housemate just managed to lock herself out of her room and we had a hell of a time breaking down the door to let her back in so she could finish her essay. Anyway, I hope that this chapter was worth the wait and thank you all for being so patient. --homemade chocolate brownies for all--

**I'm uploading a Chritmassy fic on Christmas Day! Be sure to check it out!**


	31. Auditions

** CONGRATULATIONS _THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA _ON BECOMING THE LONGEST RUNNING SHOW ON BROADWAY, JAN 10th, 2006!**

**A/N:** OK, I'm sorry for the wait...again. I put up a poem on Christmas Day called _A Hogwarts Christmas Eve_. I've been told it's good for a laugh :) Also, if you haven't read _1000 Talents_, please do and leave a review. Thank you!

I watched Dario Argento's version of _Phantom of the Opera_ last night and thought it was...weird. Very, very weird. My housemate summed it up well; "It was a good film in its own right, but not as _Phantom_". I have mixed opinions. On one hand, the Phantom was brought up by rats, gets turned on by them, and bites peoples tongues out, but on the other hand, the Phantom gets his Christine and she doesn't want to leave him. And they have sex. But there's naked people. Ugly naked people. Oh well, I'll just have to watch the most recent version to cleanse my brain. Such hardships...heehee.

**PhantomFanatic:** Yes, you were the first to review, and yes, I can tell you were on a major sugar high. No problem though :) I'm thinking of bringing up the movie thing a few chapters if I can. Oh, yeah, the opera thing. Maybe I didn't explain myself very well. What I meant was that she wrote up Erik's opera on her score-writing program on her computer. Does that help?

**This chapter is dedicated to my godmother, Sheila, who left us on 18th December, 2005. Now with her husband. Rest in peace, guys, and be happy.**

**In His Darkness…**

"You are not wearing that."

I looked down at my outfit-long black skirt, black woollen off-the-shoulder t-shirt, bare feet. "What's wrong with it?"

Erik scowled and gestured to my bare skin. "You have become very pale and will stand out too much. The auditorium will be full and I can't risk people seeing you."

"I have nothing else to wear!" I wailed.

Erik raised his eyes heavenward in a 'give me strength' expression before handing me his cloak. "Wear this. It will keep you warm as well."

I grinned happily, shook out the cloak and wrapped it around my shoulders.

We went over to the passage that led up to the chapel and Erik let me enter it first before letting the door swing shut behind us. I stood still for a few moments to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness before following the sounds of Erik's footsteps along the passage. I couldn't see a thing. I reached out and ran my hand down Erik's arm until my hand was in his. "So I don't get lost," I whispered as I felt him tense at my touch.

We veered off to the left, something I didn't know about, and after a few twists in the tunnel, we stopped. Erik's hand left mine and once again I was completely disorientated. There was no sound of him at all-no breathing, no footsteps, nothing. "Erik," I whispered loudly, "where are you?"

There was no reply. I've never been overly fond of enclosed spaces, especially in the dark. "Erik?" I span round wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of the white mask. "Erik!"

A hand came down on my shoulder and I stifled a cry.

"I'm here." His warm baritone instantly calmed me but I still grabbed hold of the hand and squeezed tightly.

"I thought you'd left me."

The hand on my shoulder stiffened slightly and there was a tense silence. "I'll never leave you."

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself before saying, "How far do we have to go now?"

"Not far," replied Erik. His hand left my shoulder and I felt rather than saw him move round in front of me. "We just have to climb this ladder and then…"

"Hold it," I said holding up my hand in an ineffective gesture. "You said nothing about a ladder. I don't do heights."

There was a disbelieving pause. "It's dark. You won't be able to see how high up you are."

I bit my lip, considering. "How high do we have to climb?"

There was another pause. "The ladder is just to your right. You go first and I'll be behind you."

"You didn't answer my question," I said nervously as I moved towards the ladder, arms outstretched. I felt a pair of hands guide my own towards the sides of the ladder.

"I think it would be best if I didn't."

That was it for me. Spiders I can deal with, snakes are not a problem, but when it comes to heights, even in the dark, there is a better chance of Satan getting into a snowball fight than me climbing up something. I took a step backwards, shaking my head decisively and bumped straight into Erik.

"No way," I said. "Not a chance. No, non, nein, não, and 'no' in all the other languages I can think of."

There was an interested silence. "I didn't know you could speak Portuguese."

"I can say 'yes', 'no' and 'beer' in about five different languages," I said proudly. "But that is not the point. The point is I am not going up this ladder."

Erik sighed exasperatedly and he pushed me towards the ladder. "Start climbing. I'll be right behind you."

I put my hands on the sides of the ladder and pulled myself up the first few rungs. "I really don't like this," I muttered and I continued to climb. Every twenty rungs or so, I had to stop and take a few deep breaths to stop my hands from shaking.

And every time I stopped, a strong hand found my waist and rested there comfortingly until I could start moving again.

**-8 -**

When we reached the top of the ladder there was a small ledge which I climbed inelegantly onto and immediately pressed myself against the wall. Erik followed with his usual grace and leaned towards me. Slightly taken aback by the advance, I moved to one side but Erik's hand stopped me.

"Careful. I don't want you to fall."

I stretched out my foot a few more inches and found nothing. Empty space that led downwards for a lot further than I cared to think. "Can we get out of here?" I whimpered, before blushing at how pathetic I sounded.

He leant over me again and I heard the soft click of a mechanism. The panel behind me slid open and I rushed through it, hands trembling. I stood at the back of the box and took some shaky breaths to calm myself. A warm hand rested on my shoulder and I managed to steady myself much quicker than if I had been alone. "Thanks," I said quietly when I felt better.

Erik took my hand and we went to sit in the front row of seats in the box. It was perfectly clean as usual-Monique had done her job well! We had a perfect view of the stage and the auditorium. The stalls were full of people-from cleaner to _prima ballerina_, everyone was there. It seemed that everyone took Erik's instructions very seriously. Not that I blamed them. I settled back into my chair as M. LaCroix began to speak.

"Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming. First of all, if there is anyone who seriously doesn't want to audition, you can either leave now or stay and watch." He waited while four or five people stood and walked out before continuing. "There are four main parts; one baritone, two tenors and a soprano. We will be holding auditions for these parts first, then for minor roles, and finally for the dance corps."

I saw Carla shifting in her seat, a smug smile on her face. "If she gets the lead role," I whispered to Erik, "I will personally strangle the managers."

A small smile played about his lips. "She won't. I purposefully wrote the part so it's entirely wrong for her."

I wrinkled my nose and pulled the cloak tighter around my body. "That won't stop her trying though."

His eyes flicked over at me and he smiled sympathetically. An odd fluttering feeling started in my stomach and I rubbed it absently in an effort to sooth the feeling. We both settled back in our chairs as M. LaCroix began speaking again.

"We'll audition for the part of Natalie first, the lead soprano," he called. "Anyone who wants to audition, please come up to the stage now and collect your music. Don't worry about having to sing without practicing first; he has taken this into consideration."

Five women walked up to the stage, Carla and Christine among them. They stood at the side of the stage to wait their turn, Carla looking arrogantly confident and the others looking nervous. Especially Christine. She kept glancing up to box five and I was sure that she had seen one of us move or heard us speak. I sighed, already feeling a little bored and slid down in the chair crossing my legs at the ankles and leaning my head back.

I was snapped out of my boredom by the melancholy sound of a piano accompaniment, unmistakeably André, the musical director; that clunky left hand was recognisable anywhere. Then Carla joined in. I groaned under my breath and heard Erik snigger slightly as I buried myself in the folds of his cloak. The overwhelming scent of lilies flooded my senses again and I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. Carla's voice faded away as my attentions turned to the scent emanating from the cloak.

There was something entirely individual about it. A slightly musty undertone that I suppose came from being underground so long was overshadowed by the scent of lilies. I had always associated lilies with death, ever since my godmother's funeral a few years ago. We had been quite close, Sheila and I; shopping, chatting and generally being good friends. It hadn't been a shock when she died. I had been more stunned when she told me that she was going to refuse her next course of chemotherapy. Her favourite flower had been the lily and there had been mounds of them at the funeral. The house had reeked of them for weeks afterwards. Ever since then, lilies equalled death to me. But there was something warmer about this scent. It wasn't just a straight floral smell, there was a mellowness to it that somehow made it less stark and much more comforting. It took me a while to realise what it was. It was Erik.

"You can come out of there now." Erik's voice made me jump and I bit back a surprised squeak. "She's finished singing...and I use that term in its broadest possible sense."

I pulled the cloak down around my neck again and made an effort to righten my hair. "Blech. Cloak hair."

Erik gave me a confused glance.

"Like hat hair but worse," I replied seriously, as though it were a deadly condition.

He smirked and we turned back to the stage as the next woman took her turn. We sat through the next three auditions fairly painlessly, and I was surprised at the high standard of some of the women. Finally, it was Christine's turn. I sat back, waiting for her to start and Erik leant forward in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin and an intense look in his golden eyes.

"Are you ready, mademoiselle Greer?" asked André from his seat at the piano.

"Yes," she smiled. "Please call me Christine though."

André smiled, surprised, and began to play the mournful introduction for the fifth time. As Christine began to sing, I sat bolt upright in my seat. Her voice was so pure and angelic, and her facial expressions matched Erik's beautiful lyrics perfectly.

_I think about you most of every day._

_You are the gift that graces all I do,_

_The single star that lights my lonely way._

_I miss so much what words cannot convey:_

_The lilt, the laugh, the smile, the savor new._

_I think about you most of every day_

_I dream about the places where you play,_

_Wondering what you are thinking, you,_

_The single star that lights my lonely way,_

_The lonliness that haunts where I must stay,_

_This wilderness of soul where wounds accrue._

_I think about you most of every day,_

_And in that cell where you are locked away,_

_You cannot hear my song but I sing to you,_

_The single star that lights my lonely way._

_I sing of truth that words cannot betray_

_And love no harrowing can hide from view._

_I think about you most of every day,_

_The single star that lights my lonely way._

When she finished, I could hardly hold back the tears. Her voice was incredible and her actions just echoed the passion in the lyrics. "I think you've found your Natalie," I whispered to Erik, brushing a hand across my eyes.

He nodded wordlessly a small smile playing about his lips. A _proud_ smile for some reason. Before I could think on this too much, M. LaCroix took to the stage again and announced that the male parts would be auditoned for now. I settled back in my chair and watched the rest of the auditions.

**-8 -**

By the time the auditions had finished, my mind was a whirl of music and dance. The beautiful melodies that Erik had written were weaving in and out of my head and the elegant yet seductive dances were imprinted on my minds eye. The only time Erik and I came to a disagreement was when Pierre and Monique auditioned. I wanted Pierre to take the part of the Jules, the Devil's Child, but Erik wanted Jean-Luc, the leading tenor. I stubbornly refused to budge until Erik agreed, not too reluctantly, to give Pierre the smaller part of the gypsy leader's son who is seduced by Natalie to enable her to get into the camp. Monique danced incredibly well and I knew she was a fairly decent singer as well so I thought she should go in the chorus. Erik argued that as she had only auditioned for the ballet corps, that was where she would stay. I opened my mouth to argue some more but Erik cut me off in my tracks when he said he would allow her to have one of the solo dances. That was good enough for me. All I wanted was for my friends to get noticed. I stretched my arms out and cracked my knuckles, earning a wince and a glare from Erik, and wriggled my toes in an effort to warm my bare feet.

Erik stood and offered me his hand. "Come. We must tell my managers of our decisions."

I gulped, thinking of the long descent down the ladder.

Erik smiled comfortingly as he pulled me to my feet. "There is no need for a ladder on this journey."

I followed him willingly out of the box, down a spiral staircase and through a large portrait into a dark passageway. Erik kept hold of my hand as we walked and I felt the floor slope downwards steeply before levelling out. We stopped under a small grating and peering out I could see M. LaCroix standing next to the piano talking to André. They laughed and shook hands before André wandered away. M. LaCroix stood where he was, rifling through some papers and suddenly he froze. His eyes widened and he started to turna around but stopped in his tracks and looked down at the papers again and began scribbling something on them.

I turned round to Erik in confusion. His amber eyes were fixed on M. LaCroix and I looked between the two of them getting even more confused with every passing second. "What's going on?" I whispered to Erik.

Wordlessly he groped for my hand and rested two of my fingers against his throat. I could feel the faint vibrations there but could hear nothing. I smiled, finally understanding. "Ah, ventriloquism. Neat."

"Thank you," he replied a few moments later. "Now we must see if M. LaCroix will carry out my instructions."

I looked back up through the grating and saw M. LaCroix shake himself and look around nervously before clapping his hands loudly and calling out to everyone. "May I have everyone's attention, please!" He waited until the people silenced themselves before continuing. "Thank you. I have just heard from the opera ghost and his companion..."

A few whispers of '...petite amie...' fluttered through the auditorium and I glanced up at Erik to gauge his reaction but his eyes were fixed on M. LaCroix and he was listening intently.

"...and they have come to their decision," the manager continued, glancing down at the papers he had been writing on. "The part of Philippe, the gypsy leader will be given to Giovanni. The part of his son goes to Pierre. Jules, the Devil's Child will be played by Jean-Luc." There were short outbursts of applause after each name was called, and I heard a squeal from Monique when Pierre's name was read out. "Finally," said M. LaCroix, "the part of Natalie goes to the highly deserving...Christine Greer."

There was a louder round of applause, and Erik and I smiled at each other smugly. We waited until M. LaCroix had read out the names of solo dancers and new chorus members before turning to leave. However, a disgruntled screech stopped us in our tracks.

"I am-a to be _chorus-a girl_!"

Erik and I winced as the harsh Spanish soprano cut through our eardrums and drilled into our brains.

"Now, now, Senora," said M. LaCroix placatingly with fear in his eyes. "It was not my decision at all. If it had been, you can rest assured that you would have been granted the lead role."

"Ach!" screeched Carla. "It is-a because she is-a called _Christine_! He favours her because-a she has-a that name!"

Erik and I groaned quietly. We both knew why she had said that and I could only hope that it wasn't true. It wouldn't have been fair on Christine for a start, and I had my own, more selfish, reasons.

"Shall we go?" Erik whispered softly in my ear sending a light shiver down my spine.

I nodded wordlessly and took the hand he offered to me as we made our way back to the cavern.

**-8 -**

When we reached the cavern, my mind was buzzing and the music was still ringing in my ears. Watching the auditions and taking part in selecting the actors had been such a rush and I was grinning inanely. "That was so much fun!" I giggled. "And the look on Carla's face was priceless!"

Erik laughed with me, his beautiful musical laugh that echoed round the cavern. His smile went to his eyes and for a second the hardships of his life seemed to have disappeared. I watched him for a moment. He seemed so young and yet so old.

Ageless.

I wandered over to the organ and brushed my fingers over the delicate ivory keys. So smooth and cool. Like Erik's skin. He walked over and stood next to me, watching my hands. "Did you really enjoy today?" he asked softly.

I smiled up at him. "Yeah! It was great." I paused and turned my gaze back to the organ. An idea had been playing in my mind for a while now but I hadn't dared to mention anything to Erik. A cold finger pressed under my chin and I found myself looking up into Erik's face.

"What's wrong?"

I frowned. "Well, for a start you're wearing the mask." I reached up and pulled it from his face. He flinched slightly but that was the weakest reaction I had got from him. "I've been here a long time," I said, resting the mask on the upper keyboard of the organ. "I'd...I'd like to..."

"...go home?" he interrupted gently. "Well, I can't deny I wasn't expecting you to say something sooner or later."

I rolled my eyes and slapped him gently on the arm. "Don't be an idiot. My home is here now. I've told you that enough times." I looked down at the mask, glinting up at me from the ivory and ebony keys. "I was going to say, I'd like to make my presence more official. With the management. If you know what I mean."

He looked a bit confused. "You mean, become a second opera ghost?"

"Two heads are better than one," I pointed out, plonking myself down on the organ stool. "And what more could you want than a ghost who's knows everything about music, and another who specialise in woodwind and can wire a lighting rig with her eyes closed?"

"Analyse the audtions for me."

"Excuse me?"

"Pick someone's performance to pieces." He sat on the organ stool next to me and fixed me with a piercing look. "I want to know how useful you're going to be."

I thought carefully to collect my thoughts before speaking. "Well, Carla does actually have a good voice. But she abuses it. She doesn't know her limits and she strains to reach those high notes. Um, André is a wonderful pianist but his left hand sounds really clunky occasionally. And Christine..." I glanced at Erik before continuing, guessing that I was venturing onto dangerous ground. His jaw was clenched and I decided to tread carefully. "Well, you could tell she was nervous but she sang beautifully. A little sharp at the top perhaps, but otherwise...wonderful."

Erik relaxed slightly at my words. "Yes, she was very nervous. Poor child. It took..." He broke off suddenly and flushed.

"It took...what?" I asked suspiciously.

"It took a lot of courage to get up there and sing in front of everyone," he said calmly. The light blush remained, however, and I knew that wasn't what he was going to say.

I eyed him warily. "I'm not entirely sure I believe you."

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "I'd like to see you stand up and sing in front of people."

"See it, but definitely not hear it," I snorted. "And that's not what I meant, and you know it." I sighed and shook my head. "I need a name. Every good ghost has a name."

Erik just looked at me.

"Well, you're the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera, the Angel of Music, and Erik all at the same time," I explained. "You get all the good nicknames. Anyway, I can't be called Marguerite to everyone up there. Imagine the look on Monique and Pierre's faces!"

"Who said this ghost thing was going to happen anyway?"

"I don't want to be called a ghostess," I continued, oblivious to Erik's question. "It's so unoriginal. As is 'phantomess'. Makes me sound like I'm your girlfriend, which everyone thinks I am anyway so I suppose it wouldn't be a problem." His earlier question clicked and I looked up at him. "What do you mean? Aren't you going to let me. I mean, I'm practically a ghost anyway."

A flicker of worry crossed his face. "I'm not going to be able to get out of this, am I?"

I grinned brightly. "Nope."

He sighed resignedly. "Fine."

I squealed happily and threw my arms around him, burying my head in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around my back as soon as he had stopped himself falling over backwards off the stool. I pulled back to look him in the face. "You are the best!" I grinned. Then my excitement overtook me, and I kissed him. Full on the mouth. Quite forcefully, actually.

I sat back, a grin still plastered on my face. Then the reality of what I had just done sank in. My eyes widened in shock and I stood up hastily. "Er, sorry. Got caught up in the moment," I muttered, blushing a wonderful shade of tomato. "I'm gonna go think of a ghostly name. And outfit. Uh...yeah."

I practically ran to my room, pressing a cold hand to my cheek in an effort to cool the burning. I had kissed him. I mean, it wasn't a huge, passionate, take-me-now-you-stud-muffin type kiss. It was one of those kisses that you would give your boyfriend or girlfriend to thank them for something. I simply leant forward and pressed my lips against his. He had looked absolutely stunned when I pulled back and I felt so guilty. I was so confused. I hadn't meant to kiss him; I just got caught up in the moment.

Having said all that...I rather enjoyed it.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** I don't pretend to be a poet or lyricist. The lyrics are from _www . poemsforfree . com_ and there's a massive collection on there. The poem itself can be found at _www . poemsforfree . com/ithin2 . html_ but I changed the words slightly.

I'm not really feeling like the bouncy upbeat Jem that's needed to write this phic at the moment. It's been a rough couple of months so I'm taking a small break from _IHD_ to concentrate on uni work and possibly a slightly darker phic that's in the pipeline. Rest assured that _I am not abandoning this phic_! Heaven forbid I should after all the nice things you guys have said in your reviews! I'll work on future chapters when I find the time. I'm coming up for an intersemester break in a few weeks so I'll try and get some stuff done then.

It's so nice having a laptop again -hugs the laptop-


	32. We need to talk

**A/N:** Ok, fairly quick update after an impossibly long wait last time! I've kinda got back into the rhythm of writing and I'm starting to enjoy it again. I'm going to keep writing in my spare time, especially since I've got about a three week break until semester two starts at uni. Yay!

P.S. I haven't got round to putting Microsoft Office on my laptop yet so I'm having to use WordPad to write. It doesn't have a spelling or grammar check, so any stupid mistakes are all mine.

**Lady Fae:** --grin-- I'm really glad you're enjoying it. And don't worry, I have plenty of cards up my sleeves! Here's the next chapter.

Thank you to everybody else who reviewed! Hopefully, I've replied to you already and if not...uh, sorry. --cookies for all--

**In His Darkness...**

I woke early the next morning, dressed quickly and had left the opera house and was halfway across the city probably before Erik realised I had gone. Running from my problems again, you see. That's what I do. I had good reason to do so this time though - I needed to go shopping. Ok, so maybe it's not a good reason but it'll do. I was wandering around the shopping quarter of Paris, disgusted with the high prices and what I considered to be hideous fashions. I found many different stores that I would have gone into had I been at home but I found that my tastes in clothing had changed somewhat since I started living with Erik. I no longer vaguely followed the changing of fashions between seasons but chose older, more classic styles. Usually in black. Lots of black.

I was stomping out of GAP, silently cursing their inability to stock large amounts of black clothes, when I spotted an internet café across the street. With a small grin I quickly crossed the road and found an spare computer. I scanned through the most recent updates on my friends' journals before logging onto my email account and grimacing at the state of my inbox. I deleted everything from mailing lists, university and general junk that somehow managed to get through the filters and was left with a decent number of important looking emails. I read them all through and replied to them when necessary and then opened the one I had been saving until last. It was from Monique.

_Marguerite, _- it said,

_Why did you leave so quickly? Pierre and I have missed you so much. We are a couple now and I am so happy. I wish you could be here to share our happiness. I had to find your email address from that journal of yours. I hope you don't mind._

_Things at the opera house are going well. We have a new opera that the ghost wrote! It is called The Devil's Child and Mme LaCroix thinks that it is a sort of autobiography...except for the part where he has a sister! Pierre and I both got roles - he is one of the supporting males and I managed to get one of the solos in the dance corps! He wanted us all to audition, you see. The opera ghost, I mean. Everyone from cleaner to Carla was there to audition. Oh! And she didn't get the lead role; the Scottish woman did. She sang so beautifully. It was like an angel's song._

_I must go or I shall be late for work. Please, please reply to us and let us know that you are ok and that you forgive us. I hate it that you left so soon after we argued._

_Monique and Pierre_

_xxx_

I smiled softly as I read through Monique's words. I recognised the chatty way she had of putting things in what had come to be her second language. I replied quickly, reassuring the two of them that I was fine and that of course I wasn't angry with them. I even said, rather rashly, that I was thinking of coming back to Paris for my birthday at the end of April. That was about three and a half months away though so if I changed my mind, I could deal with it nearer the time.

When I had finished with the computer, I went to the counter to pay, rubbing at my eyes as I wasn't used to staring at a computer screen for so long. I hadn't realised I had been in the café for over an hour and a half. As I paid, a newspaper headline on Paris Match, a French tabloid, caught my eye: _Troisième fille violée en quinzaine_. The article was accompanied by colour pictures of three girls, each with brown hair and either blue or grey eyes. Like me. Normally I wouldn't touch Paris Match with a ten-foot barge pole, but this story worried me. I paid for a copy and went outside to sit and read the paper, translating easily as I went.

_Third girl raped in a fortnight._

_A third girl has been left seriously injured after the latest of a series of attacks in central Paris. Rebecca Thorpe, 19, was visiting Paris from England with her family when she was attacked just five minutes walk from the Opèra Garnier. Thorpe was the first victim to give an accurate description of her attacker._

_All of the man's victims have been British. Helen Sutton, 21, was the first victim, attacked fourteen days ago. She was visiting friends in Paris and was on her way to their apartment south of Gare du l'Est when she was set upon by the man. Luckily she fought him off and managed to get to her friends' apartment and raise the alarm. The second victim was not so lucky. Emma Moore, 20, of north England was attacked when returning home from a night out with friends. Moore was on a placement at IRCAM (Institute de Recherche et Coordination Acoustique/Musique) but has since returned home. She was the first victim to suffer rape at the hands of this monster which now roams the Parisian streets._

_Using descriptions of the man from each of the three women, police have pieced together a photofit identity. The man is described as being approximately 180cm (6') tall, with blond hair, blue eyes and glasses. His clothes were different on all three occasions but the women say that the memory of a large gold watch worn on his right wrist sticks in their memories. Meanwhile, police are urging all women to carry personal attack alarms and to stay in groups._

_This publication wonders, however, why our 'esteemed' police force is not sending more of its officers out to the affected area. All three attacks occurred within ten minutes walk of the Opèra Garnier. Perhaps the police are frightened of ghosts of the past?_

I stopped reading with an amused snort. Not at the ordeals suffered, I hasten to add, but at the conspiracy theorists that seemed to run every second rate paper in Paris. Honestly, I would barely use the _Paris Match _to start a fire. I stuffed the paper in my bag and stood up, looking around for a shop that might stock the clothes I was looking for. A side street caught my attention. I'd noticed it before but never wandered down it since all of the shops I usually went into were on the main streets. I picked up my bag and wandered down the small street. The tall buildings cast shade across the narrow road, and the temperature dropped slightly making goosebumps spring up on my bare arms.

It was the street of my dreams. Two small bookshops with bookshelves that stood to the ceiling, crammed with books, a small café with accordion music drifting out of it, an old music shop with a two antique clarinets in the window, and, finally, a clothes shop. I pushed open the door and a bell tinkled brightly as I stepped into the shop, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.

"Good morning, miss," said a wavery voice in French. "Can I help you?"

I turned and smiled at the elderly woman who had appeared behind the counter, grey hair swept back into a bun. "Not just now, thank you," I replied. "Is it alright if I have a look around first?"

"Of course," she said, and sat herself down on a stool, watching me as I moved around the racks of clothes.

The shop wasn't really a second-hand shop, nor was it a high street chain. It was one of those one-off stores that stocked clothing from just about every era you could think of. On one side were skirts and dresses that wouldn't have been out of place in the nineteenth century, and on the shelf next to them were shoes that could have been worn by someone at Woodstock. I had in my mind the style of clothes I was looking for, and stayed in the older area of the shop. I sang under my breath as I hunted through the racks, occasionally pulling out an item and draping it over my arm.

"You're not from around here, are you, dearie?"

The English words spoken with no trace of an accent made me turn towards her in surprise. "Is it that obvious?" I asked wryly.

"I know a good British woman when I see one," she replied. "I've been here for forty years, dearie. Ran this shop with my husband until he died last year. Got my son to help me run it now but he's out at the moment." She held out a hand to me. "I'm Maureen but people call me Mo."

"Marguerite," I smiled, shifting the clothes to my other arm so I could shake her hand.

She eyed my selection openly. "Are you sure you don't want a bit of colour in your wardrobe, dear? That's a lot of black for one person." A thought must have struck her, for she shot her head up to look me in the eye. "You're not one of these New Age gothic people, are you?"

I grinned. "Nope. It's just that black is slimming." I gestured to the clothes over my arm. "Can I try these on somewhere?"

"Of course." She pointed to a door to one side of the counter. "There's a changing room in there. Take your time. It's not every day I get someone in here to talk to."

I pulled open the door and began trying on the different clothes - skirts, shirts, jumpers, t-shirts, a dress. I eyed my reflection in the mirror critically and chose a selection of the clothes. My favourite outfit was a simple black linen skirt, cotton vest top and long sleeved woollen jacket. I changed back into my regular clothes and carried out my selection to pay for them.

Mo was leaning on the counter chatting amicably in French to a man in his mid-thirties. She smiled when she saw me and immediately switched back to English. "Ah! Have you find some things you like, dear?"

"Yep." I hefted the armful of clothes onto the counter and dug in my bag for my purse. The man was watching me with a funny expression on his face. I turned to him irritably. "Can I help you?"

He shook his head and flushed. "Sorry. I have a feeling that I've seen you somewhere, that's all."

Mo paused in ringing up the total on the till to make the introductions. "This is my son, Jacques. This young lady is from England, Jacques! Isn't that lovely?"

"I could tell, _maman_," he replied dryly.

"So, where do you think you know me from?" I asked curiously. The man was starting to look familiar to me as well. Dark brown cropped hair, light blue eyes...something was stirring in my memory.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "I work at the Opèra Garnier, if that helps. I'm a cleaner there but I just got a part as a dancer in the latest opera."

The face clicked in my memory. The lithe movements of this man leaping across the stage were fresh in my mind. And when I had gone up to check on Monique and Pierre, he had been vacuuming in the stalls...and he recognised me. This was not good. "I've never been to the Opéra Garnier," I replied easily. "I've heard it's haunted."

Jacques visibly paled. "Oh, yes. The Phantom is real. It is he who has written the latest opera."

A loud 'ching' broke the tense silence and made me jump. "That'll be €51, please, dearie," said Mo.

I winced at the amount I had spent. I handed over the crisp notes and waited while my new purchases were packed into a large carrier bag. "It was so nice to meet a fellow Brit," I said to Mo. I turned and shook hands with Jacques. "And it was lovely to meet you as well. Good luck with the opera. I'm sure you'll do very well. You have just the right build for a dancer."

He blushed lightly again and I left the shop, giving a small wave to them both. As the door swung shut behind me, a wavery voice said, "I think she took a fancy to you, Jacques." I grinned to myself and headed towards the main street, found the _metro_ and went back to the opera house.

**-8 -**

I dropped the carrier bag on my bed and began the task of pulling off all of the price tags. One of the skirts needed another button sewing on, and a shirt had a small tear in the seam but Mo had given me a small discount so it didn't really matter. I changed quickly into the outfit I had liked back at the shop and stood in front of my own mirror to study my reflection. The skirt clung to my waist and hips and flared out at the knee, slimming down my figure immeasurably. The vest top picked out every curve possible and the woollen jacket hung loosely over my shoulders. I was probably being big-headed...but I looked good.

Erik had been in the lounge when I walked in and I had waved hello before going straight to my room. I hadn't heard him moving around so I rightly assumed he was where I had left him. I wandered into the lounge and stood in front of the fire. "What do you think?"

Erik glanced up from his book and his eyes widened slightly. "You look...nice."

The smile dropped from my face and I planted my hands on my hips. "'Nice'? I spent hours shopping, spent loads of my hard earned cash, and all you can say is that I look 'nice'? Try again."

Erik sighed, closed his book and looked up at me. "You look agreeable...winning...superior...decent...copacetic."

I frowned. "What does 'copacetic' mean?"

"'Nice'."

I groaned and rolled my eyes. "You, my dear, are impossible."

"So I've been told." We smiled at each other and silence reigned once again. A tense silence. The memories of the night before were still fresh. The kiss.

"I suppose this is the point where one of us utters the cliché, 'we need to talk'." I spoke lightly but my hands were twisting the fabric of my skirt and creasing the material.

"I suppose so." Erik put the book he had been reading on the coffee table. _Les Miserables_ by Victor Hugo. Another classic-novel-to-musical tale. Ironic, I suppose.

I sat on the opposite chair and folded my legs underneath me, chewing on a thumbnail. Silence. We sat and watched each other, neither wanting to speak first, and yet both wanting to say something, anything. "You want to go first?"

"Not really."

I sighed, getting a squirmy feeling in my stomach. "Have you been totally, one hundred percent honest with me ever since I came here?"

Erik shook his head slowly, looking slightly worried.

"Me neither." I looked down at my hands and brushed out the creases in my skirt. "So we should make a deal for the next few hours. I will be brutally honest with you, and you will be brutally honest with me. One question each, taking turns." I looked up at his bare face, so beautiful in its contortion. "Deal?"

"Deal." His expression echoed my feelings exactly - terror mixed with anticipation.

"You first."

Erik folded his hands in his lap as I wriggled around in the chair trying to get comfortable. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," I sighed pulling a strand of hair over my shoulder and twisting it around my finger. I was surprised at how long it had become. It needed cutting as well. However, now was not the time to think about my coiffure.

"Be more specific."

I bit my lip and thought hard. I wanted to know a million things - about the kiss, about the night of the ball, about his singing and especially about Christine. I'd seen the way he was looking at her at the auditions - a mixture of pride and happiness. Something about it made the green-eyed monster in me rear its head. Easier...well, less difficult things first. "Christine," I said, a little too loudly. "What's the deal with her?"

"There is nothing the 'deal' with her."

Something about his voice made me look up sharply. "Brutal honesty, remember."

Erik began to look rather uncomfortable. "I've been...teaching her," he mumbled.

My eyebrows flew so far up my forehead I think they must have disappeared into my hair. "You've _what_?"

"She thought it was quite fun to be taught in the same way as Christine Daaé." He started to look a bit ashamed of himself. "I stood behind the mirror every night and she sang for me. I'm her very own Angel of Music." A frown creased his brow. "She doesn't seem to be very interested anymore. I think that because she's got the lead role, she thinks she doesn't need me anymore. And she does if she's going to improve."

"Maybe she expects to come down here," I commented. "I mean, if she thinks that she's being a Christine substitute..." I let my voice trail off so he could think through the implications of my words.

"It's a possibility, I suppose," Erik admitted. "Is that all you wanted to know about her?"

"No," I said simply. "I was watching you when she auditioned for the opera. I understand now why you looked so proud...oh, no, you didn't hide that very well," I added at his surprised expression. "It was obvious now that I think about it. Although..." I broke off, chewing a fingernail.

"Although...?" he prompted. "Brutal honesty, remember?"

I sighed and dropped my hand back into my lap. "Although...I want to know what sort of pride it is. I mean, is it purely a student-teacher thing or is it...something more."

"Marguerite, what are you trying to ask?"

"Do you love her?" I asked bluntly.

"Love her?" he half-laughed. "No. Not in the way you mean."

I looked up, shocked. He was leaning forward, watching me with those intense golden eyes. For the first time, I noticed that the irises had darker brown flecks in them and that they were outlined in the same colour. They were beautiful and yet somehow so familiar. "Oh, God. Why didn't I see it before?"

"What?"

"Your eyes. _Her_ eyes. That's why she looks so familiar." I stopped muttering and looked up again. "She looks like your sister. When she smiles, she looks just like your sister in that picture you showed me. That's why you're so interested in her, isn't it."

There was a incredibly long pause before Erik spoke. "Yes," he replied, his voice cracking. "She's so much like Natalie. The way she smiles, the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder...the way she sings."

"Erik," I said gently. "She's not Natalie."

"I know," he snapped but immediately his face softened. "It's just so good to have someone like her around."

"What am I? Furniture?" I sulked.

He watched me for a moment. "You're special," he said, so softly I could barely make out the words. "My turn."

"...Ok," I said reluctantly.

He looked at me thoughtfully. "I've heard you play many times. I've even heard you sing. Why don't you want to make a career out of your music?"

I was surprised. I was expecting him to ask me something that required me to delve deep into my emotions, not something that I had been asked a million times before. I shrugged. "I'm not good enough."

"You _are_ good enough. You have improved beyond belief. Even your voice could be good, with training." He smirked. "Lots of training."

I shrugged again and shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not competitive enough. If I was a viola player, or a horn player, or even a bassoon player, it would be easier to find an orchestra that needed me. The flute is such a common instrument and you've got to be so individual in your style of playing, and so good, that orchestras are hardly ever on the lookout. Plus," I continued, "the money's not great. I'd have to teach or something as well. And standing up in front of a bunch of little brats, most of whom don't want to be there, is not my idea of a job. It's more like torture."

"What about instrumental tuition?" He leant forward and watched me intently. "If the world can't share your talent, then you should pass it on to others."

I shrugged. "I don't fancy teaching in any form. It just doesn't appeal. Performing is what I do. It's who I am. Music is my life," I finished softly. The phrase stirred something in my memory...the night of the ball. "I've told you that before."

"You have." It was a statement, not a question. Evidently, he remembered that night as well as I did. Good.

I looked up at him, watching me. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

"No. I think you should give tuition a try. You could enjoy it."

I blinked. "Please tell me you're joking."

"No. I will get you involved in the orchestra rehearsals for _The Devil's Child_ and you will see just how good a teacher you can be."

He looked incredibly serious and stubborn so I decided not to argue. "Ok. Can I ask my next question now?"

Erik nodded. He seemed to have relaxed somewhat. So had I. This 'brutal honesty' bargain wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. Yet.

"Your singing," I began. "I know that you refuse to sing but I don't understand why exactly."

Erik stood abruptly and went over to the fire place. He crouched, took a chunk of wood from the basket next to the fire place and laid it into the dying fire. It caught straight away and the flames sprang up again. He stood and brushed a hand over his face. "I cannot say that I wasn't expecting this to come up. It doesn't make it any easier though." He turned to me and I could see the guarded emotion in his eyes. "We sang together. Together our voices drew crowds that numbered well above a hundred. We were _L'Ange et Le Diable_. We wore masks, and then at the end of the...performance they were removed. Gasps of horror and delight at the sight of this-" he jerked a hand up to his bare face "-monstrosity. They loved Natalie, absolutely adored her."

Erik sat back down in the empty chair and stared unseeingly into the flames. I waited for him to continue. "We were in Germany one year," he began again. He voice was hollow. It was as though he had distanced himself from the whole story. "The crowd rioted. I'm sure I've told you this. Well, we went back to the same town and our routine had changed a little. I would stand on stage and sing to the crowd, and then her voice would join me and she would walk on. One night, it came to the cue for her to join in and she didn't. I stopped singing and looked around to where she stood before walking on stage and she wasn't there. They made me carry on with the act and it was an hour before I could try and find out where she was."

He stopped talking and ran a hand through his hair. I resisted the strong urge to sit next to him and hug him tightly. The fire gave a loud pop as Erik began speaking again. "A group of men took her away and they were long gone before I could escape from the gypsies. I never saw her again." His melodic voice dropped to a whisper. "She was the only reason I sang. I never sang again because there seemed to be no point."

"What happened to sharing your gift with the world?" I asked softly.

"Like some musicians, I would be wanted for my looks rather than my talent," he spat. Beneath the anger, there was sadness and I knew then that his one wish was to be accepted like any other man. If only wishes could come true.

I smiled thoughtfully. "You wouldn't have to get up on stage and sing or anything. You could compose. Your opera is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. And people wouldn't care if you wore the mask. You would be considered an eccentric artiste, not a weirdo or anything." I paused to consider my words. "I think that might have come out wrong."

"Not at all," he replied. "I know exactly what you meant. And my music is played - the opera, for example."

"Yes, but you don't get any credit for it," I said. "If I was making something as beautiful as that music, I would want everyone to know my name."

"I don't need to be known, I don't _want_ to be known," he replied stubbornly. "As long as my music is heard by the world, then that is all that matters."

I sat back in my chair thoughtfully. "That's incredibly...noble? I don't think that's the right word." I gave a frustrated sigh. "To want to share your music just for the sake of it, rather than wanting to be recognised in any way. That's so...selfless. No, that's not right either." I stood, stretching out my cramped legs, winced, and then moved in front of the fire, enjoying the way my hair flashed red in the light. "Your question."

"I chose a simple question for you to begin with. This is difficult for me to ask but I have to know." Erik began to look nervous. "The man you were with. Mark. I want to know all about him."

The memories dragged themselves out of my subconcious, all of them clamouring for attention. "It'll take too long for me to tell you everything about him and our relationship," I said slowly. "I will tell you, I promise. You deserve to know since you rescued me from him. But not now. Please."

He looked at me carefully. "I trust you to keep your word. When I ask you, you will tell me."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak through the lump that had grown in my throat.

He stood and crossed to where I was leaning against the wall. "There is one thing that I have to know."

I looked up at him expectantly, blinking back the threatening tears that had built up from the memories.

"Did you love him?"

I swallowed thickly. "I think I did at one point. Or maybe...I don't know. I was really depressed when we met and he showed an interest in me so I went for it. I thought I loved him but looking back I don't think I did. I just couldn't be alone." I shook my head and scowled. "I certainly don't love him now. I don't even like the bastard."

"Good." Erik sounded a little more satisfied than he had done a few moments ago.

"So...is it my question again?"

"Yes."

Oh, God. The one question whose answer I was dreading but the one I desperately wanted to know. I pushed myself away from the wall and turned away from him so he couldn't see the worry in my eyes. I took a deep breath and took the plunge. "The night of the ball. Do you remember it?"

"Very well," he smirked. "Any part in particular?"

"When you brought me home again," I said, turning to face him nervously. "I started ranting about how much music meant to me, and I said I needed to find someone to share my passion with, and then..."

"...I did this." Erik took a hesitant step towards me, holding my gaze. Wordlessly, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"Yes, that," I said, my mouth dry. "Then that stupid greenfly or whatever it was flew into my eye, and when I looked up again you were gone."

"...I still haven't heard a question in that ramble."

I closed my eyes and steeled myself for his answer. "What would have happened if that fly hadn't decided to crash land?"

Silence. I thought he had left again, that I had pushed him too far, but then he spoke. "Probably something similar to what happened last night."

I opened my eyes with a jolt and saw Erik's chest directly in front of me. I lifted my head and met his gaze. "I didn't mean to do that, you know. I just got caught up in the moment."

"So you said." There was disappointment in the melodic tenor and he stepped away from me. I couldn't bear it.

"But don't think for a moment that I regret it," I said in a rush. "Because I don't. Not for a single second." I stopped, waiting for him to turn back to face me. He didn't. I crossed to where he was and stood in front of him, taking his hands in mine. "Just because I didn't mean to kiss you doesn't mean that I didn't want to. That I don't want to." I paused and took a deep breath to try and stop my trembling hands. It didn't work. "The night of the ball. There was something there between us, I know it. I felt it, and I know you felt it too. You were going to kiss me that night, and that sodding bug decided to ruin it all." I looked up at him and saw the guarded fear and hope in every line of his face. "If you had kissed me, I would have kissed you right back."

"I wanted to," he whispered. "But then I remembered this," he lifted my hand to the twisted skin on the right side of his face, "and knew that you would just be repulsed."

"So make it up to me," I begged, tracing small circles on his skin with the ball of my thumb. "I'm right here, Erik. And I'm not going anywhere."

Erik leaned towards me and our foreheads pressed together. Slowly, torturously slowly, our heads tilted and I raised myself on tiptoe, my hands sliding up to his shoulders for balance. Finally, his lips found mine. They were soft and cool, and pushed against mine with a delicious pressure that made me lean into him even more. His hands went to my waist and gently he moved his mouth against mine. We were both so scared but it was a kiss full of hope and promise for the future. Our lips parted and he leant his forehead against mine once more, grey eyes meeting gold in a look that told everything.

There was no need for words.

**-8 -**

**A/N:** Oh, crikey. Hardest. Chapter. Ever. I am emotionally and author-ing-ly exhausted, as well as physically exhausted since it's 2am here in good old England. I hope I did all the emotional stuff justice. I'm not really used to talking about emotions and girly things like that. And, yes, I am female. I've just realised that I use an awful lot of Brit-isms in my writing. If anyone starts getting confused by slang, or anything else I write, please let me know!

The first half of this chapter was the last of what was stored on my stolen laptop, so now I have to write instead of re-write everything. It's making it easier though since I don't have to struggle to remember the best parts of what I had.

Since you've all been so patient with me, I've decided to leave you with some reccommendations; _The Girl Next Door_, _From Angel's Eyes_ and _Cold, Cold Heart_ are all by Kat097 and are absolutely fantastic. If you haven't read any of her work, I suggest you do so --holds a Punjab lasso in a threatening manner-- Also _Demons_ by WanderingChild, and _Erik: The Vampire Hunter_ are both good reads, wonderfully plotted out and a great way to waste a few hours (when you should be concentrating on coursework --cough-- oops --cough--). All the links are in my Favourite Stories list on my profile.

Read and Review, please everyone! I love to hear your comments and take any criticism to heart.


	33. Memories

**A/N:** Ack, I forgot a translation in the last chapter. _L'Ange et Le Diable_ means 'The Angel and The Devil'. I'm sure most of you figured it out though... Uh, yeah. Sorry this chapter has taken so long - uni stuff, as well as other RL issues that I've had to deal with. Stupid life getting in the way of my writing...

**Special shout-out to XyBulmaXy** who simply reviewed for the first time and gave me 150 reviews!

Hugs and special cookies to you, and regular cookies for all my other wonderful reviewers. I appreciate you guys so much - you make me want to keep writing...even if it does mean being highly unsociable for hours on end ;)

**Kaledena:** I know. Well, at least no-one can say I did it too quickly! I think the emotional exhaustion was totally worth it :) I rather like Jacques. He was mentioned in passing but I think we'll see a bit more of him... I've had the Christine thing planned out from the beginning but it's taken me this long to get it written. Argh! Anyway, hope you like the chapter!

**PhantomFanatic:** Nope, I haven't seen _Wicked_. I'll try and get hold of the soundtrack or DVD or something...when I have money --considers size of overdraft-- Er, not for a while then... I'm really glad you like my writing style :) I've got the rest all planned out - just have to write it all now :D _Dear Frankie_ made me cry as well but I still love it! You confused me - you said it was 9am and I look at the clock and see it's 5.45pm --confuzzled-- Stupid time differences...

**This chapter is dedicated to HurriCanine**

who, after reading the entirity of _In His Darkness_, went back and read it all over again, reviewing each and every chapter. My inbox has never seen so much action!

**P.S.** I know this is still quite long but this is intended to be a half chapter. I'm struggling with the second half and, for reasons described at the end, will not be up until Easter. When I get the next bit written I will simply edit this chapter instead of putting up a whole new one. Get it? Got it? Good.

**In His Darkness...**

I woke the next morning to the gentle brush of lips on my cheek. I opened my eyes slowly and smiled. "Morning."

"Good morning." Erik smiled down at me, brushing hair out of my face. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you," I said softly.

"Good." He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and stood. "I'll make breakfast."

I stretched luxuriously as I watched him leave my room. I had slept far better than I had in a long time. I wasn't in any hurry to get up so I lay back and thought of the night before...

**xXx**

_"Are you absolutely sure about this?"_

_I groaned and pressed my lips against his. "What do you think?"_

_"I think...you must be mad."_

_"It has been said before and no doubt will be said again," I smiled. "But I'm not mad about this. I'm mad about you."_

_"Cliché queen." Erik smirked and pulled me into his chest._

_"But you love me for it," I said lightly, enjoying the feel of his arms around me. This hug was somehow much more intimate than others we had shared. His chin rested on the crown of my head and I never wanted to let go._

_"Not just for that," he said softly._

_I pulled back from his arms and looked up into his face, and for the first time in five months I saw a completely unguarded expression written there. Love. "But you do love me?" I whispered._

_He placed a cool hand on my cheek and I instinctively leaned into it. "More than anything."_

_I twisted my head and pressed a kiss to his palm. "More than music?"_

_He laughed quietly and dropped a kiss on my temple. "Maybe not that much."_

_I shrugged and smiled, playing along. "Coming second to music. I think I can live with that." I pulled out of his arms completely and sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace. "Join me," I said, patting the space next to me._

_Erik sat and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. He put an arm round my shoulders and I leaned into him. The gesture was so completely natural. I felt happy and safe, and it didn't seem to matter that just five minutes before we had been that most famous cliché - just good friends._

_I had a home. I had friends. I had a warm fire crackling and scattering orange light around the room. I had Erik. And that was all that mattered._

**xXx**

"Marguerite! Are you planning on getting out of bed any time soon?"

I grinned to myself and vaulted out of bed. Never had I had so much energy in the mornings. Oh well, it probably wouldn't happen again. I ran a brush through my hair, tugging out the knots and went to the kitchen. There were dishes of food on the table, and glasses of fresh orange juice next to empty plates. "Erik! That's so sweet of you!"

He screwed his face up. "Sweet? I'm not sweet. I'm a terrifying spectre, threatening managers and scaring the wits out of ballet dancers." He pulled out a chair and I sat down. "I suppose I can be gentlemanly."

"If you say so." I picked up a croissant, tore it in half and spread strawberry jam on it before taking a huge bite. "Yum. Thank you." We ate in silence for a few minutes. Occasionally I glanced up from my food just to look at him, to check it was all real. I resisted the urge to pinch myself.

"I've been thinking."

I snapped out of my thoughts quickly. "Oh, yes?"

"Yes." Erik took a swallow of orange juice before continuing. "If you really want to go ahead with this ghostess thing-"

"I'm not going to be called a ghostess," I said quickly. "It's so-"

"-overused, I know," he interrupted with a smirk. "So you need a name."

I grinned. "You're not the only one who's been thinking. I've come up with a few ideas." I finished the last bite of the croissant, pushed back my chair and stood dramatically. "How about...Theatre Spectre?"

Erik looked rather pained.

"Opera Wraith?"

He raised an eyebrow and failed to hold back a smirk.

"Ok. How about simply 'Maestro'?"

"Too manly."

"Oh fine." I sat back down in my chair feeling thoroughly disheartened.

"Were they all of your decisions?" Erik nudged my foot under the table and I glanced up.

"Well, there was one more." I began picking at a fingernail. "'Operetta'."

He didn't say anything and I looked up worriedly. He was just looking at me thoughtfully. "I like that."

I perked up. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yes. A comic or light opera. Not as intense as a full opera but still just as effective." He smiled softly. "The differences between an opera and an operetta echo the differences between us."

"Well, I didn't think about it that deeply. I just liked the word," I said honestly, with a rueful smile. "I see your point though - an opera _is_ very intense and an operetta is much lighter but both centre around music and emotions."

We smiled at each other and Erik stood, walking round behind my chair and resting his hands on my shoulders. "What are you planning on doing today, _Operetta_?"

"I don't have any plans, _M. le Fantôme_. I was just going to stay here and do a few repairs on some of those clothes I bought. And some customising as well." I pressed my cheek against his cool skin and leaned my head back to look up at him. He was looking rather worried.

"Customising?"

"Nothing too big," I said defensively, pushing my chair back slowly and standing up. "I mean, plain black is so boring. I need some colour. And since you have an emblem, I should have one as well."

"Such as?"

"Maybe a daisy," I mused. "After all, a marguerite is a type of daisy...or maybe a candle. Or a pearl."

"How about something completely unrelated to your name?" said Erik. "Like a star or a feather, perhaps."

"Maybe." I leant into his arms and it came so naturally that I hardly realised I had done it. "Or...oh, wow, I've just had a fantastic idea." I stood on tip-toe, pressed a kiss to Erik's mouth and rushed off to my room.

There was a book I had found on one of my infrequent trips to the world outside all about the history of the British monarchy. History had always interested me and books were now a lot more attractive since there was no internet under the opera house. I dug out the book - _La Monarchie de l'Angleterre_ - and found the pages I was searching for. "Aha!"

"What on earth are you doing?"

I hadn't heard Erik come in and I jumped about a foot in the air. "You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days." I turned back to the book and pointed at a passage on the page. "Come and look at this."

_Les guerres des roses étaient des séries de guerres civiles combattues en Angleterre médiévale de 1455 à 1487 entre la Famille de Lancaster et la Famille de York. Le nom "guerres des roses" est basé sur les insignes employés par les deux côtés ; le rouge pour le "Lancastrians" et le blanc pour le "Yorkists"._

"I'm still not sure what you're suggesting."

"You use a red rose, I should use a white one. It's only fitting." I looked up at him with a smile. "York is my home town."

He looked confused. "But your accent..."

"Is non-existent, I know." I smiled ruefully. "I only moved there three years ago. I grew up in Kent."

"Well, that would explain it."

I smiled thoughtfully, looking at the pictures in the book. "It's such a beautiful city. It's this amazing mixture of old and new, and it's got a fantastic history; Roman city walls, Viking ancestry, the whole lot. And on top of that, there's a magnificent cathedral. The Minster is great to play in - it has amazing acoustics."

Erik placed a finger under my chin, tilted my head up and kissed me. "You're babbling," he said when he pulled away.

I smiled and tried to catch my breath. "I should do it more often if that's how you plan on making me shut up." I closed the book and stood up, wrapping my arms around Erik's waist. "I should go and work on those clothes," I said reluctantly.

"Go ahead," replied Erik, resting his arms about my shoulders and resting his chin on my head.

I pressed a quick kiss to the side of his neck and extricated myself from his embrace. "No, I really should." I turned and began to walk to the bag of clothes that was sitting at the foot of my bed but I didn't quite make it. Just as I reached the end of the bed, one of Erik's arms wrapped itself around my waist and his other hand pushed my hair away from my neck.

"No, you don't." His breath whispered over the sensitive skin just below my ear and I nearly melted. It took every fibre of my being not to turn around and kiss him within an inch of his life. Instead I forced myself to step forward, pick up the bag of clothes and then turn around.

"That is unfair." I gave him a quick kiss on the rough skin of his right cheek and dropped the bag onto my bed. "Now get out and let me work. Go play the piano or something - it'll help me concentrate."

Erik looked a bit put out at first but the thought of being able to play for me seemed to perk him up and he left me in peace. A few moments later, piano music drifted into my room and wrapped me up in a blanket of sound. I found a needle and a spool of black thread, and dug out the skirt and top that needed mending. I sat on my bed and let my mind wander as I sewed.

**xXx**

_I watched the orange flames crackling in the fireplace and smiled. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. How do you go from being 'just good friends' to being in a relationship?_

_Wow. Relationship. Scary._

_And yet not scary in the slightest because it was with Erik and he would look after me. He would always look after me. I smiled again and rested my hand on Erik's knee, moving my thumb in small circles._

_"Is something the matter?"_

_I blinked and came out of my pondering. "No. Why?"_

_"You sighed." Erik tangled my hair around his fingers as he had done many times before, cool fingers brushing against my neck. Now, though, it just felt so much more intimate._

_"It was a happy sigh," I replied, abandoning his knee and turning so that I could look him in the face. His hand that had been tangled in my hair slid down to my lower back and around until it came to rest on my hip. I reached a hand up to cup his right cheek and frowned as he jerked away. "Don't do that, Erik. It's me."_

_"I'm sorry. I just...I don't..." He looked down and then turned back to the fireplace._

_I put a finger under his chin and forced him to look at me. "Erik. Please?"_

_"I don't understand," he whispered. "I'm...me. I mean...well, look at me!"_

_"I _am_ looking at you," I said. "And I like what I see." I smiled and moved my hand from his chin to the nape of his neck. "I like it very much." With that, I kissed him again, lips sliding together, tongues exploring and tasting each other._

**xXx**

Finally the button was in place, and the torn seam had been closed. Of course, I was still left with a large pile of plain black clothes, strained eyes and a thoroughly pricked thumb. I rubbed at my eyes and yawned. I checked my watch. It was eleven am and I had no right to be tired. Piano music was still drifting put from the music room and it merged into something very familiar. I stood with a smile and left my room, shoving the bag of clothes into the space between the foot of my bed and the wall.

Erik's fingers were caressing the keys of the piano, producing such an incredible sound that I wondered exactly how he did it. I stood behind him and followed the music and, when the cue came to sing, I began to hum unconsciously. He stopped playing abruptly and turned round with a smile. "I didn't hear you come in."

I kissed the top of his head fondly. "Well, you've snuck up on me enough times. I thought I should get revenge." I leant over him and picked up the music book he had been playing from. "I love this song. It's one of my favourites."

He took the book from me and set it back on the piano, turning back to the keys as he did so. "Sing for me."

"Excuse me?"

"Sing for me." He began to play but when the cue came I remained silent. He twisted in his seat with a frown. "Marguerite, I have heard you sing."

"Singing along to a CD is different," I protested. "I can follow what the other person is doing for a start. Besides, what you heard me singing along to is an entirely different style to this." I crossed my arms and glared down at him stubbornly. "I am a musician, not a singer."

Erik looked at me thoughtfully. "You could get lynched for that."

"Let the mob come!" I proclaimed. "Hell hath no fury..."

He chuckled. "Like a woman scorned." Erik wrapped his arms around my waist and I rested my hands on his shoulders. "I can believe that."

"Yes," I agreed. "You must have seen many a stroppy diva at your age."

**xXx**

_Erik sat in the armchair and pulled me onto his lap. We kissed, his hands on my waist and mine on his shoulders. At length, I pulled away from him and rested my head in the crook of his shoulder. "You're very comfortable."_

_"Thank you." He kissed my hair. "I think."_

_I took his hand in one of mine and studied it. The skin was pale and had a yellowish tinge from lack of sunlight. Long, slim fingers with neat nails. A scar on his thumb, and small dots of ink on the index finger. It was impossible to think that they had seen 150 years pass by. "I love your hands," I murmured. "Hands are supposed to be a give-away when it comes to telling peoples' ages. But yours don't."_

_"150 year old hands are usually skeletons," he said dryly, taking his hand back. "Have you thought about this?"_

_"About skeletons? Not recently. Although I had this dream when I was about eleven where..."_

_"About the age difference." Erik shifted so I had to lift my head and look at him._

_I considered this for a moment. "Nope. Should I?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Oh." I paused for a split second. "Thought about it and I don't care."_

_Stunned silence._

_"Technically," I continued, taking his hand back, "you're only thirty-seven. I'm twenty-one in April, so there's only...uh, take off the twenty makes seventeen, minus the one is _sixteen_ years older than me." I shrugged. "I'm sure I can cope."_

_"What grade did you get in maths?" he asked, sounding highly amused._

_"I got a B at GCSE, and failed my AS and my A2," I said. "But I only failed the AS by one mark in one module."_

_"I'm not overly familiar with British qualifications," he replied._

_"Well, first off there's GCSEs and you take them at 16..." I began, linking our fingers together. And that was that. Age was no longer an issue._

**xXx**

"Marguerite?"

I jumped. "Sorry?"

"I said, I have to go up into the Opera House and asked if you would like to come with me." Erik looked at me, concern wrinkling his forehead. "Are you alright?"

"Yep, just thinking," I replied, pulling out of his arms. "I'll go and get changed."

**-8 -**

**A/N:** The translation of the book passage is: "The Wars of the Roses were a series of civil wars fought in medieval England from 1455 to 1487 between the House of Lancaster and the House of York. The name Wars of the Roses is based on the badges used by the two sides, the red rose for the Lancastrians and the white rose for the Yorkists." It was translated into French using an online translator and, even though I fiddled around with it using my GCSE French skills from many years ago, it may not make perfect sense. The original passage is from _www . warsoftheroses . com_

**IMPORTANT:** My oh-so-wonderful (not) friends have decided that I am obsessed with _Phantom_. This I agree with. However, they have decided that I should give up _Phantom_ for Lent. I now hate my friends. This why there will be no updates until Easter. I apologise and ask you all to blame my friends! They are only letting me keep my watch (_Phantom_ related) and are granting leniancy in three of the ensembles I am in that are doing pieces from _Phantom_ this semester.


	34. Home is where the heart is

**A/N:** Hey, everybody! –waves- Ok, I know I said that the last chapter was a half but I decided that it was so long I'd cut it into two. So this is the second half. Enjoy!

**Songbird'sGirl:** Mmm, cookies –munches- Well done on attempting to give up _Phantom_. I'm not doing well either. Oh well. Enjoy the chapter!

**PhantomFanatic:** Weird thing; you mention _Wicked_ and I turn up to rehearsals and find two of my friends rehearsing a duet from it! It was really good :) I live in England. A more accurate description is in my profile. And I love your babbling – you make me giggle! Enjoy the chapter! (To answer your question in review #2, Lent is the period of 40 days before Easter Sunday. It starts on Ash Wednesday and is a time of sacrifice for a lot of people, especially Christians.) Oh, and **Happy Birthday**!

**LadyFae:** I know -cries- If you feel bad, imagine how I feel! To be honest, my friends know I write but they don't read it so they won't know if I update. I feel a bit guilty when I start reading and writing phic though…oh well! Enjoy the chapter!

**Dedicated to Songbird'sGirl for being my 200th reviewer!**

And thanks to all of you for your support and patience through the erratic updates of this phic. I won't be abandoning it – it's my baby!

* * *

**In His Darkness…**

There are five practise rooms in the Opera Garnier and each contains a piano and music stand. A full length mirror was hung in each room so that the performers could check their posture. The passage that Erik and I were currently standing in ran the full length of the practise rooms and we could see into each room through small air vents in the wall. We found Jean-Luc, the leading tenor who was taking the role of Jules, and André, the musical director, in the second practise room. We heard them before we saw them.

_My hours are slumberless_

_Dearest the shadows_

_I live with are numberless_

_Little white flowers_

_Will never awaken me_

_Not where the black coach_

_Of sorrow has taken me_

From behind the wall, Erik and I winced as Jean-Luc hit the wrong note on the 'has' in the last line and it clashed horribly with André's piano accompaniment. Erik pulled a scrap of manuscript paper from the bundle he had brought with him and scribbled a phrase on it, handing it to me quickly. "Play this."

"Now I understand," I muttered, tucking the paper into the corner of the vent and removing my mask before taking out my flute from its case and running through the finger pattern a few times. Erik had told me to bring the instrument along, 'just in case', and I had been confused but done as he said anyway. It was usually wise to do so.

"Non, Jean-Luc," called André, lifting his fingers from the piano keys and standing up. "The correct phrase is this."

As he reached towards the piano, I began to play the phrase Erik had written. It was dark in the hidden passage but I could just make out the notes from the light coming through the vent.

As I played, I half watched for Erik's reaction as he watched the two men through the mirror a little way off. He was smirking.

I finished the phrase and Erik spoke. "Listen carefully, boy, or I shall think I cast the wrong man in the role." His voice was all around me, not surprising since we were in an echoing passageway, but through the vent I could see the André and Jean-Luc looking around in confusion. Erik nodded to me and I played the phrase twice more, slower the first time so he could hear the notes and then at the proper speed.

"Sing!" commanded Erik, the power of his voice sending shivers down my spine.

André practically flew to the piano and Jean-Luc straightened immediately. I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to giggle and packed my flute away, closing the case with a quiet snap. I slung it over my shoulder, slid the mask over my face again and walked along the passageway to Erik. "Who's next?" I whispered, slipping my free hand into his as the men inside the room began to rehearse again.

"The managers," he replied with a smirk.

**-8 -**

The managers' office was at the top of a flight of stairs, along a short corridor and the second door on the left. Of course, that was how I reached it the first time I went to see them. Erik and I continued along the narrow passage that we were in and followed it as it began to climb upwards and curve to the left. As it straightened again, Erik slowed down and guided me towards the right side of the passage. There was a very dim patch of light coming from the wall at about the height of my head and I stepped towards it curiously.

"Up on that ledge and then into the crawl space." Erik pulled himself up onto the ledge easily and lay down before sliding forward on his stomach.

"Der ner ner ner ner ner ner ner, Cat Man!" I mumbled. I hoisted myself up onto the ledge, scrabbling for a foothold and copied Erik's movements. I slid forward until we were lying side by side. He had rolled onto his back so I did the same, with more than a little difficulty.

"You must be quiet now," he said in a voice so low I practically had to lip-read.

I nodded. Well, sort of. It's very difficult to nod when one is lying in a crawl space. "I thought we were going to see the managers," I whispered.

"We are."

"Erik, I trust you completely but the last time I checked the managers had an office not a gap under the floor." I suddenly realised what I had just said. "This is their floor."

"Yes."

"And we are under it."

"Yes."

"And…" Erik cut me off with a finger on my lips.

"We need to get into the corner. There's a space there where we can stand."

I nodded and waited until I could see which direction Erik had moved in. I followed him with some difficulty – I was not built for sliding around on floors. Erik had stood up by the time I reached him and I found myself facing his feet. I slid my knees up under me and went into a crouch before easing myself upright.

The square column was not big. It had definitely been built with the intention of holding only one person. Erik and I were pressed together in the small space, my back against his chest and his arms around my waist. It took a great deal of effort not to turn around, reach up and kiss him. There was a vent about two feet above my head and a cool draught was drifting into the hollow.

"Well, this is cosy," I muttered dryly.

He bent his head to my ear. "Are you complaining?" His warm breath brushed over my ear and I shivered.

"Not in the slightest." I turned my head and kissed him softly. He responded for a few moments and then pulled away.

"Behave, Mar…"

"Do I have to?" I interrupted with a smile.

He laughed softly. "Unfortunately, yes. They're coming."

I couldn't hear anything but turned back to face the wall quickly. Moments later a key rattled in the door and it swung open. Two sets of footsteps entered the room and crossed to their respective desks. There was a loud _thunk_ followed by a muffled 'ow'.

"Charles, will you stop being so overdramatic?" The sharp tone of Mme. LaCroix's voice quelled my amusement at the image of M. LaCroix had slamming his head on the desk.

"Hélène, I work in theatre. What do you expect?" His voice was still muffled but became less so as he spoke. "Although that did hurt more than expected."

"More than Carla's glittering personality?"

There was another _thunk_ and a sharp, "Charles!" and I clapped my hand across my mouth to silence my giggles.

"That woman will be the death of me." He sighed and there was a beep followed by whirring as he turned his computer on. "She brings in a large audience, looks fantastic…er, from a purely artistic point of view, dear…"

"Good."

"…and sings wonderfully." There was the sound of typing for a few moments. "But she is the most difficult person to work with."

"I agree with you, Charles, I really do." A chair scraped on the floor and I heard Mme. LaCroix walk across the room and open a cupboard in the corner. "However, she is under contract. And who would replace her if she left? No-one else here has that kind of talent and I for one do not relish the idea of auditioning dozens of people again. Not after having to replace Nicole."

"But Christine is an excellent performer." There was more typing and the sound of a book opening. "Surely you're not regretting hiring her?"

Behind me I felt Erik tense. I tangled my fingers with his as they rested on my stomach and he relaxed.

"Not at all!" He shuffled some papers on his desk. "Do you have the wage sheets, Hélène?"

"In that cabinet in the corner," she replied absently. "And I should hope not, Charles," she continued, as if the question had never been asked, "because she seems to be favoured by O.G."

"Hmmm." M. LaCroix sounded sceptical. "I don't see why you insist on calling him 'O.G.', Hélène. He has a name you know."

"I know," she replied, "but it doesn't seem right somehow. He's practically our boss. Erik." She paused. "No. It still doesn't feel right."

Then something happened which made me jump out of my skin. Erik spoke.

"That is quite alright, Madame, if, of course, you will allow me to call you Hélène."

I looked up at him, eyes wide and mouthed, "What are you doing?"

He raised a finger to his lips and smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. It was the first time in a while that I'd seen him looking so…young. It was good. I turned back to the vent as Mme. LaCroix spoke.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur." She sounded nervous. "I didn't realise you were there."

"Evidently," replied Erik, his voice coming from all around me. "You should realise by now, both of you, that I am everywhere."

A chair scraped across the floor and I heard M. LaCroix get to his feet. "Our apologies, Monsieur," he said. "Is there anything we can do for you? Something you wish to alter in your opera, perhaps?"

"No!" snapped Erik. "My opera is perfect. If you are suggesting that I give Carla the role of Natalie then you are treading on dangerous ground, Monsieur." His voice went so low it was almost a growl. "I have made my decision."

"I wasn't suggesting anything." Now M. LaCroix sounded nervous. "Recently you only seem to be speaking us to sort out the opera."

"You sound disappointed, Monsieur," Erik replied dryly. "I shall be sure to pay you a purely social visit every so often."

I nudged him gently with my elbow and whispered, "Play nice."

He took my hand and squeezed it gently before speaking to the managers. "However, my opera is not the subject of my visit. I should like to formally introduce someone to you."

"Your…um, companion?" said Mme LaCroix. "I believe we met her at the ball."

"You did," replied Erik. "Briefly. She will be taking a more active role in rehearsals for _The Devil's Child_ – more specifically with the orchestral rehearsals. She also has some knowledge of lighting and sound equipment. I expect her opinions to be as listened to and as respected as mine."

"They will be," said M. LaCroix confidently. "We look forward to hearing from her."

I sensed that this was the chance to speak. Thankfully I'd only spoken to the two of them properly once before so I was pretty sure they wouldn't recognise my voice. Still, I didn't want to take any chances.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting, Charles," I said quietly, pushing my low alto down to the bottom of its range. "Nor you, Hélène." I made sure that they could hear the smile in my voice as I added, "It is good to see you again."

"And you, Madame," replied Mme. LaCroix. "In a manner of speaking, of course."

"Mademoiselle," I corrected quickly. "And I should hope so. I intend to take a large role in the production of my master's opera, especially the orchestral rehearsals."

"And the sound and lighting set-ups?"

"I have faith in your technicians, Hélène," I replied. "Any corrections in lighting and sound levels will be made by my master and told to you by me."

"Well done," whispered Erik, making me jump. I had almost forgotten he was there. "You make an excellent ghost. Madame," he continued loudly, "Monsieur. I thank you for your riveting conversation, as always."

"You're leaving?"

"Don't sound so pleased, Monsieur," replied Erik in an icy tone, "or I will make sure that it is _you_ who is leaving."

"My apologies," he said. "I meant no offence."

"And yet you caused offence," I replied. "It is a thing that happens far too often and therefore it is sometimes better not to say anything at all."

I couldn't turn and look at him – the space was too small for that – but I could hear the smirk in Erik's voice as he spoke. "I will be paying close attention to the dance rehearsals and the vocal training that, in some cases, needs desperately to be given. My companion will be overseeing the orchestra."

"I shall," I agreed. "I look forward to the first rehearsal."

"As do I," said Erik. "Goodbye, Madame, Monsieur. I…_We_ will be seeing you again."

"Goodbye, Monsieur, Mademoiselle." The two managers sounded extremely relieved.

I prepared to crouch down and slide under the floorboards again, sweeping all thoughts of spiders from my mind.

"Wait!"

I stood again and waited for Mme. LaCroix to finish.

"Do you have a name, mademoiselle?"

I smiled. "My name is Operetta. Remember it."

I began to crouch again but Erik stopped me. "There is a better way out." He reached up to the top corner of the wall next to him and pressed a switch. The wall slid to one side leaving just enough space to get through and stand in front of another wall. He pulled a rope that was attached to the wall and it too slid to one side revealing the room next door to the managers' office.

It was full of filing cabinets, each with different labels describing their contents. I looked at one; "Cleaning staff (joined 2000-2005)". I supposed that my name and information would be in there somewhere, along with Pierre's. I turned to Erik, who was putting the wall back into place, and scowled. "We couldn't have come through here in the first place?"

He smiled at me. "What would have been the fun in that?"

I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Can we go home now, please?"

"Of course." He held out a hand to me and I took it.

We left the room through the door – not a secret door, but the door that any member of staff would use – and turned left, following the well lit corridor as it curved in an S-shape and led to the top of a flight of stairs. We went down the stairs, listening carefully for any sounds of stagehands or dancers, and took another left. Erik led me along the corridor past the instrument store and props stores, until we came to my old dressing room.

It was empty and unlocked so we simply went through the mirror and down the passageway back to the cavern. I pulled off my mask as we walked and enjoyed the touch of Erik's hand on mine.

Erik pushed open the wall at the end of the corridor and stood back to let me pass. I looked around with a smile and a happy sigh, walking over to the organ stool and dropping my mask onto the red velvet cushion.

"Home."

I turned and looked at the man behind me. He was watching me with a soft smile on his lips and love in his eyes. I held out a hand to him and he walked towards me, tangling our fingers together. I slid the mask from his face with my spare hand and placed it gently next to mine.

"Yep," I sighed happily, wrapping my arms round Erik's waist and kissing him soundly on the lips. "I'm definitely home."

**-8 -

* * *

**

**A/N:** The lyrics are from _Gloomy Sunday_ which can be found on Sarah Brightman's album, _La Luna_. Although Sarah is so well known for her work on stage, especially _Phantom_, I really recommend listening to more of her work. She has the most amazing voice and sounds great singing in any genre.

Hurrah it's Easter and Lent is over! I made a deal to put £1 in a tin every time I mentioned _Phantom_ and then give all the money to charity. I got up to £35 and that has been given to MacMillan Cancer Research :) And I get all my DVDs and CDs and other bits and pieces back. Yay!

Sorry I didn't update exactly on Easter Sunday (or anywhere near it for that matter) but I've had essays to write, flute practise to do, presentations to prepare for, jobs to apply for _and_ an opera libretto to write as well. Oh, and I had to finish writing this chapter. Don't expect regular updates either. Life is hectic.

Hope you all had a good time over the holidays and thank you again for being so patient! --hands out cookies--


	35. Presence and Presents

**A/N:** Another long wait…Once again, my apologies to you all. Fortunately, term is over so I have plenty of time to write. I've also had to get a job though (Tesco again) so I have different shifts at the most random times. Night shifts are not my friend…although I do get paid double… :) Anyway, read and enjoy! Cookies for all!

**PhantomFanatic:** Yes, summer is upon us indeed! I have melted into puddles with the heat and lack of a decent breeze but I shall survive. Enjoy!

**Riolaku:** -gives cookies- Welcome! I'm really glad you enjoyed it so far. Hope this chapter lives up to expectations. Enjoy!

**SongBirdsGirl:** :D Everybody's special! Hope you feel better now. Enjoy!

**MysticLadyFae:** Oops. Apologies! I was trying to figure out exactly which universe my fic is based on and decided on the movie. Well, you'll have to wait and see how it turns out :) Enjoy!

* * *

**In His Darkness…**

It was midday and the sound of singing filled the air. I had decided that the original cast recording of _Les Miserables_ was my soundtrack of choice while I finished sewing. Unfortunately for Erik, I had decided to sing along.

"On my own, pretending he's beside me. All alone, I walk with him 'til – ouch!" I snatched my hand out of the fabric and frowned down at the spot of blood on the tip of my finger. "Stupid needle."

"Pity. You weren't sounding too bad until then." Erik was leaning against the doorframe as I looked up, a smile on his lips and in his eyes.

"Hmph," I said in reply. "That hurt." I gathered up the fabric again and continued sewing. The head of a rose, the stem and a leaf had already taken shape across the front of the black t-shirt I was working on and I had another leaf to go. I had lightly sketched the shape of the rose in tailor's chalk before using chain stitch in white thread to go over the pattern.

"Are you nearly finished?"

I glanced up again and smiled before looking back at my work. "Yep. Just a few more stitches and I'm done."

"Good because I have the bits and pieces you wanted Guillaume to get for you."

I grunted in reply as he walked away from my room and headed for the lounge. I finished the rose leaf quickly and held it up to look at it. It was only the third that I had done and it was good. I folded the fabric, laid it on top of the other finished clothes, and went into the lounge.

Erik was sat in one of the chairs reading a new book that Guillaume had bought for him. For some reason he had developed a taste for Roald Dahl and had just finished one of his collections of short stories. A bag was on the other chair. I picked it up and sat down.

"Erik," I began. "Have you ever read _Fantastic Mr Fox_ or _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_?"

"No," he answered. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," I replied, pasting an innocent smile on my face. "You know, you should read James Patterson. His books are great."

"Hush," Erik said bluntly, burying his face in the book again. "Let me read and see if everything you wanted is in that bag."

I grinned to myself and opened the bag. Inside was everything I'd asked for; white thread, chalk, a reel of thin silver ribbon, a white rose hair clip, plenty of black paper, three silver pens, and a copy of _Le Fantôme de l'Opera_. "Great. The man's a genius. You should give him a raise."

Over the top of his book, I could see Erik raise an eyebrow. "€1500 every month is enough for anyone."

I did some quick mental arithmetic and my jaw dropped. "That's just over £2000!"

Erik looked up thoughtfully for a moment. "Yes I suppose it is," he said carelessly and carried on reading.

I frowned and flicked open the new copy of _Fantôme_, brandishing a silver pen. "You continue to amaze me."

"I do my best."

_Always has to have the last word_, I thought as I began to write on the front page of the book. On my first trip up to the auditorium after I came back from Monique's, I had overheard a conversation between her and Pierre. She had said that she had never read Leroux's novel, and so I had made a promise to myself to give her a copy. I smiled and blew on the ink to dry it before closing the book again. I tied the ribbon round the book and attached a piece of black paper to it with 'Monique' written carefully in silver. "Perfect."

"What is?"

"Monique's present." I met Erik's eyes over the top of his book. "She said once that she's never read the book so I bought it for her." I leant forward and dropped the book on the table. "I'll leave it in box five after rehearsals."

"Two until seven today, isn't it?" Erik marked the page before closing _My Uncle Oswald_ and standing up, stretching his arms above his head.

"Nope," I said, picking up my new hair clip and playing with the catch. "The orchestra's in from two 'til six. We're running through the whole thing and I'll see what needs looking at next week."

"Keep an ear out for the bass trombone. I have very little faith in his tuning skills."

"'The man could not be deafer, so please preferably one who plays in tune'," I said. "That sound about right?"

Erik looked rather scared. "I think Monique got it right when she called you an insane Englishwoman."

"Yes, probably," I replied with a smile. "I'll see what she and Pierre are up to when I drop off the book. But I'll come straight back after I've left a note for André."

"You seem to have a full afternoon planned out." Erik ran his fingers through my hair and I closed my eyes like a particularly contented cat. "Will you still have time for me?"

"Of course," I murmured. "I'll even do my flute practise now so you can have me all to yourself this evening." I opened my eyes and twisted my head round to press a kiss to his palm. "I'll always have time for you, Erik."

**-8 -**

"You look wonderful."

"Are you sure?"

I looked down at myself - black trousers, black slash-neck top with a white rose embroidered just below the left shoulder, bare feet. Nothing special. I had pinned the dark brown wig into my own hair and put my new hair clip in place. The cream mask hung from my right hand and a bag with notepad, pen, Monique's gift and a short-score for _The Devil's Child_ was in my left.

"Very sure." Erik held his arms out and I went to him easily. He hugged me and dropped a kiss on my forehead.

"Why I made such an effort, I don't know," I sighed. "It's not as if anyone's going to see me."

There was a thoughtful silence. "How about letting one of the cleaners catch a glimpse of you when you drop off Monique's book?"

I nodded slowly. "I'd have to make sure the corridor outside the box is empty though. I'm not coming home down that awful ladder," I added with a shudder.

"Be careful." Erik bent his head and pressed his lips to mine in a lingering kiss. "I'll see you this evening."

I nodded breathlessly. "Why don't you choose a film to watch? They're on the bookshelf in my room."

He nodded and kissed me again. "Go. You'll be late."

I squeezed his hand gently, murmured a goodbye and pushed open the door in the wall that led up to the mirror.

**-8 -**

I winced as another wrong note from the bass trombone stood out a mile and settled back down against the wall of the passage. In the light of a small, dim torch, I scribbled down things to tell André when I spoke to him. 'Have strong talk w/ b. tbn' and 'whack oboist w/ own inst' were amongst other, more constructive, comments. I circled the dynamic under the bassoon solo in Act II, scribbled in my notebook and then glanced at my watch. Half past four. _Definitely_ time for a break.

"André," I said, making my presence known for the first time, "I think your musicians need a break. As do I." I stood and stretched out my arms. "Well done for a first go through. I'm quite impressed."

"You have a different technique to your boss," said an unfamiliar voice. I stood on tiptoe and looked through the vent. The bass trombonist was speaking to me.

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" I asked, a threatening tone in my voice.

"Well, he wouldn't praise us. He'd just tell us what we're doing wrong…"

"Rest assured," I interrupted, "I will be letting you know what is wrong. But André will know first and will pass on my comments in a far more tactful way than I ever could. Trust me," I continued sourly, "you, particularly, would not like to hear what I have to say."

The man reddened, laid his instrument in its case and left the room carrying a bottle of water.

"Half an hour, André," I said.

"As you wish." He began to leave but turned back at the last moment. "Oh, when will you want to talk to me?"

I laughed softly. "I'll find you." I grabbed Monique's gift and the torch, and headed along the passage to the end nearest to stage left. I slid the mask over my face before tugging the door to one side.

The corridor was deserted as I made my way through the stage wings and out towards the auditorium. I climbed the spiral staircase and the sound of voices became louder as I got closer to box five. It was empty, as was the corridor outside it, but the cleaning crew were going about their jobs in the auditorium. I slid into box five and into the shadows at the back of the box. Across the auditorium, a cleaner was in box eleven vacuuming the carpet. He looked familiar and as I squinted, I saw it was Jacques, the man in the shop who had recognised me. I stepped into the light and dropped Monique's book onto the chair in the front row where I had been sitting for the auditions. I stepped back towards the shadows of box five but not completely into them and looked across the auditorium, fixing my eyes on Jacques.

It took a while for him to feel that someone was watching him but when he did he looked straight across at box five and saw me. For a moment, I didn't think he was going to say anything but I was wrong.

His shout echoed round the auditorium and I stepped back into the shadows, pressing the wooden panel and stepping inside the wall. I slid it shut behind me and clicked on the torch. Seeing the long drop down the ladder made me swallow hard and I pressed myself against the wall, concentrating on the voices outside.

I could hear faint voices saying "Where?" and "Don't be stupid!" and, a few moments later, footsteps into the box.

"Jacques, there's no-one here!"

I recognised that voice instantly. Pierre's warm voice was unique.

"Although, someone has been here," he said to himself before raising his voice. "Monique! There is something here for you!"

Pierre wandered round the box, waiting for Monique to climb the stairs. She arrived quickly but sounded nervous as Pierre handed her the book.

"For me?"

"It has your name on."

There was a long pause, and then, "Look what is written here;

_Monique,_

_You once said that you had never read this book. I give it to you now in the hope that you will learn to love it, and him, as much as I do._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Operetta._

And a rose drawn in silver."

I smiled to myself as she read the words I had written earlier.

"'In friendship'," said Pierre thoughtfully. "What does she mean?"

"I don't know. I suppose I will find out."

"Not today," laughed Pierre. "Everyone is too scared to come up here. The corridor will be deserted for at least a week now."

I sent up silent thanks, safe in the knowledge that I wouldn't be stuck inside a wall for much longer. I heard my friends leave the box and waited until I was sure that they wouldn't be coming back. I slid the wall open and left the box silently. I ran down the stairs, through the stage wings and back to the passage behind the rehearsal room with two minutes to spare.

At five o'clock exactly, there were five people missing. When they arrived six minutes later, I said, "I had expected a prompt start. If anyone is late again, I shan't bother letting you have a break."

The musicians sat down quickly and I settled myself on the ground, tugging the mask from my face and leaning against the wall again with my notebook in my lap, a pencil in my hand, and the torch next to me.

**-8 -**

"Right, everyone, well done today. Same time next week."

There was a rustle of pages, creaking of chairs and general chatter from the orchestra as André called the rehearsal to a close. I stayed seated on the floor and stretched out my arms and legs to loosen up, shaking the pins and needles out of my right hand. I twisted the top of the torch so it shone brighter and pulled out a sheet of black paper and a silver pen. Carefully, I wrote up the notes I had made during the rehearsal, leaving out the one about the oboist but writing the one about the bass trombonist in capital letters and underlining it. I signed the note, tucked it into an envelope and sealed it before writing André's name on the front and a rose in the place where a stamp would be.

The corridor I was in stretched the length of the four small and two large dressing rooms on one side, and the dance studio, rehearsal room and rec room on the other. If I chose, I could see into each room and could leave the passage at either end. I stood, slid the mask over my face again, and left the passage through the door nearest stage right carrying my bag over my shoulder. I passed the rec room and headed up the flight of stairs in front of me. I stood at the top of the stairs and listened carefully. I could hear the voices of the two managers coming from their office and I was about to step out into the light when the door opened and M. LaCroix stepped out. He knocked on the door to André's office and walked in.

"How did the rehearsal go?"

"Very well," replied André. "The new ghost was quiet but I think she will have some good ideas for improvements."

"Good. André, would you mind coming into our office for a minute? There are some problems with your required holiday time in June."

A chair scraped on the floor as André got to his feet and the two men left the room. "I've told you over and over again, Charles, that if the timing is awkward I can change the flights."

"Nonsense, André,…"

The door to the managers' office closed behind them and I crept into the corridor towards André's office. Thankfully, his was the first room on the left so I didn't have to risk anyone seeing me through open doors. I stepped into his room, raised an eyebrow at the mass of unorganised papers strewn across the desk and laid the envelope on his computer keyboard. I left the room quickly and went back down the flight of stairs again, past the first aid room and into the small practise room behind it. A quick turn of the mirror and I was in another passage that led back to the cavern.

My first rehearsal and haunting had gone smoothly.

**-8 -**

"I am the second best ghost in this whole opera house!" I said loudly as I pushed the wall open, the mask and bag dangling from my hand.

"If only you were a ghost, then life would be so much easier." The bitter response wiped the smile from my face and it was replaced by a fierce scowl.

I stomped into the lounge and saw Erik glaring daggers at Nadir. I did the same. "Well, fortunately for both myself and Erik, I'm not. I guess you'll just have to get used to the fact that I'm alive. And here permanently."

"So I've heard," he replied dryly, a sneer pulling at his lip.

I dropped my mask and bag on the table before perching on the arm of Erik's chair and beginning to pull the grips out of the wig. "Just out of curiosity, Nadir…"

"Monsieur Khan."

"_Nadir_. Why don't you like me?" I was genuinely curious. As far as I knew, I had given the man no reason to dislike me and at our first meeting he seemed very open and friendly.

"You told those two friends of yours about Erik." His dark eyes flashed coldly and his hands clenched on the arms of the chair.

"Oh, pfft," I said, waving a hand airily. "You know Erik and I have moved on from that, right? Why can't you?"

"You betrayed his trust and undid nearly a hundred years of work by my ancestors to keep his presence a secret." He was nearly shouting now and I was not happy, but neither was I going to be goaded into an argument.

"Look," I said calmly, "I don't want to fight with you. I don't want Erik to be stuck between two people who he cares about that are arguing all the time."

"I'm sure I can keep control of you both," Erik interrupted sulkily.

"I know you can, Erik," I said kissing the top of his head, "but it would still be horrid for you."

"If you two are going to start being…like that, then I'm leaving." Nadir stood and fixed his eyes on Erik. "I wish you the best of luck, my friend. Women are bad-" he flicked his eyes in my direction "- but children are worse." He turned and left.

I waited until the wall had closed before exploding. "HOW DARE HE?" I jumped up, threw the wig onto the table, hair grips flying everywhere, and began pacing the room, a glare firmly fixed on my face. "I am _not_ a child and he has no right to come in here and start preaching about other people's relationships. I cannot stand that man! He is just so…"

I was cut off mid-rant when Erik pulled me into his arms and kissed me. It took a split second for the shock to wear off and I responded willingly, winding my arms about his neck and opening my mouth under his. I was completely breathless by the time he pulled away. "Wow…"

"Quiet." Erik pressed another kiss to my lips and hugged me close. "I missed you."

"Really?" I said, snuggling into his chest.

He nodded. "Silly, I know. You were only gone a few hours." He tightened his hold on me and tears pricked at my eyes as I realised that he never wanted to let me go again, even for a few hours.

"Well, I'm all yours this evening," I said, blinking furiously before looking up into his face. "Did you choose a film?"

He nodded. "It's on your bed, although you may not like my choice."

"Nonsense," I said bluntly. "If I didn't like the films I own, then I wouldn't own them. If that makes sense."

"I know what you mean." Erik relaxed his hold and I pulled out of his arms.

"I'll just go and change out of these things." I gave him another quick kiss and went to my room. Lying on the bed was the 2004 film of _The Phantom of the Opera_. I quickly changed out of my black clothes and into something more colourful, not bothering to close the drape. I picked up the DVD case and chewed my lower lip thoughtfully.

"I didn't think you'd be happy."

I shook back my hair and smiled. "Nonsense. I love this film. And I suppose it had to come to this sometime."

"We can watch something else if…"

"No," I said firmly. "You should watch it. I think some parts you might enjoy," I added, remembering the scantily clad chorus girls in the _Hannibal_ scene. "Why don't I get this set up and you go make us something to eat? Haunting is hungry work."

Erik smiled, relieved, and nodded. "Of course. Anything in particular you fancy?"

I looked him up and down and winked. "Something tasty."

**-8 -

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**A/N:** Ok, so I was going to put the film watching in this chapter but decided it was way too long. Although it is written…sort of. Ok, as I'm writing this, I'm about to start watching the film and make notes. Once again, I'm sorry for the horrendous wait. I hope it was worth it!


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